TJ 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


b^ 


^ 


V 


SICILIAN    IDYLS 

And     Other    Verses 

Translated  from  the  Greek 

By 

JANE    MINOT    SEDGWICK 


BOSTON 
COPELAND  AND  DAY 


M  DCCC  XCVIII 


COPYRIGHT     1898     BY    COPELAND    AND     DAY 


?A 


S  ^¥s 

INDEX 

Theocritus  (of  Syracuse,  the  greatest  ot  Greek 
pastoral  poets,  lived  for  some  time  at  Alex- 
andria under  Ptolemy  Philadelphus,  about 
280  B.C.,  and  afterwards  in  Syracuse,  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  Hiero  II). 

Idyl  I  3 

Idyl  III  1 1 

Idyl  V  16 

Idyl  VI  30 

Idyl  VII  34 

Idyl  XI  43 

Idyl  XV  47 
BiON  (born  at  Syracuse,  and  a  contemporary 

of  Theocritus)  62 

The  Lament  for  Adonis  62 
Meleager    (born  at  Gadara  in  Palestine,  in 

the  ist  Century,  B.C.)  67 

Aristodicus  (of  Rhodes,  zd  Century,  B.C.)  77 

Author  unknown  7° 

EvENUs  (of  Ascalon,  ist  Century,  A.D.)  79 

Tymnes  (2d  Century,  B.C.)  80 

SiMMiAS  (of  Rhodes,  circa  300,  B.C.)  81 

Antipater  (of  Sidon,  2d  Century,  B.C.)  82 

Author  unknown  84 

DioTiMUS  (circa  200,  B.C.)  ^5 

Satyrus  (2d  Century,  A.D.)  86 

Anyte  (of  Tcgca,   3d  Century,  B.C.)  87 

Author   unknown  88 


S0i247 


INDEX 

AscLEPiADES  (son  of  Sicclides  of  Samos,  3CI 

Century,  B.C.)  89 

SiMONiDEs  (of  Ceos,  556-467,  B.C.)  92 

Alpheus  (of  Mitylene,  zd  Century,  A.D.)  94 

DiONYSius  (of  Cyzicus,  2d  Century,  B.C.)  95 

Unknown  96 
DioscoRiDEs    (of   Alexandria,    zd    Century, 

B.C.)  97 

Philodemus  (of  Gadara,  ist  Century,  B.C.)  98 

Marcus  Argentarius  (ist  Century,  A.D.)  99 

Strato  (of  Sardis,  zd  Century,  A.D.)  loi 
Agathias  (of  Myrina,  in  Mysia  ;    536-582 

A.D.)  103 
Paulus     Silentiarius    (of    Constantinople, 

6th   Century,   A.D.)  105 

Thymocles  (zd  Century,  A.D.)  108 
Macedonius  (of  Thessalonica,  6th  Century, 

A.D.)  109 
RuFiNUS    (of  Constantinople,    6th   Century, 

A.D.)  no 
Author  unknown  i  i  2 
Author  unknown  I  1 3 
Anacreontic  114 
Julianus  i^GYPTius  (6th  Century,  A.D.)  115 
Palladas  (of  Alexandria,  lived  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  4th  and  beginning   of  the 
5th   Centuries,   A.D.)  116 
Marianus   (of  Constantinople  ;    the  end  of 
the  5th  and  beginning  of  the  6th  Cen- 
turies, A.D.)  118 


THEOCRITUS 


THEOCRITUS 


IDYL   I 
Thyrsis  and  the   Goatherd 

AT  the  hour  of  noon,  beside  a  cool  spring, 
Thyrsis,  a  Sicilian  shepherd,  meets  with  a 
goatherd  who  begs  him  to  sing  his  well- 
known  song  of  the  woes  of  Daphnis,  promising 
him  a  beautifully  carved  bowl  as  a  reward. 

Daphnis,  the  traditional  hero  of  the  shepherds, 
was  a  herdsman  v/ho  had  promised  eternal  con- 
stancy to  his  bride  Nais.  The  jealous  Aphrodite 
resented  his  vow  as  an  infringement  of  her  rights, 
and  punished  him  with  a  fatal  passion  for  another 
maiden  who  loved  him  in  return.  Daphnis 
proudly  resisted  the  temptation,  but  lost  his  life 
in  consequence.  He  was  bewailed  by  the  creat- 
ures of  the  pasture  and  the  forest,  twitted  by 
Hermes  and  Priapus,  and  finally  cruelly  taunted 
by  Aphrodite,  upon  whom  he  retorted  with 
spirit.      He   then    lamented   his   fate   and   died. 

3 


s; 


Theocritus.  Thyrsii. 

iwEET  is  the  music  of  the  rustling  pine 
•  Above  the  springs,  and  sweet  also  is  thine, 
O  Goatherd  !   When  Pan  piping  with  thee  vies. 
Thou  takest,  after  him,  the  second  prize  ; 
For  if  he  bear  the  horned  he-goat  away. 
Its  mate  thou  winnest  on  the  self-same  day; 
But  if  the  she-goat  falleth  to  his  share. 
Thou  hast  the  kid,  and  kids  are  dainty  fare. 

Goatheni. 
Sweeter  thy  song,  O  Shepherd  !  than  the  sound 
Of  yonder  fountain  flowing  to  the  ground. 
When  the  contending  Muses  win  the  ewe, 
A  little  stall-fed  lamb  is  thy  just  due  ; 
But  when  it  pleaseth  them  to  take  the  lamb. 
Then  thou  receivest  rightfully  its  dam. 

Thyrsis. 
Say,  Goatherd,  by  the  Nymphs  !   is  it  thy  will 
To  sit  beside  me  on  this  pleasant  hill. 
And  pipe  beneath  the  leafy  tamarisk  tree. 
While  I  watch  all  thy  pretty  goats  for  thee  ? 

Goatherd. 
Nay,  Shepherd,  not  at  this  the  noontide  hour 
Am  I  allowed  to  pipe  ;   I  fear  the  power 
Of  Pan,  who,  weary,  resteth  from  the  chase  ; 
His  mood  is  sharp,  and  wrath  is  on  his  face. 
But,  Thyrsis,  thou  hast  sung  of  Daphnis'  woe, 

4 


And  loved  the  rustic  Muses  long  ago  ;  Theocritus. 

So  let  us  take  this  seat  for  shepherds  made 

Near  the  oak-copse,  beneath  the  elm-tree's  shade  ; 

While  opposite,  from  out  their  neighbouring  nook, 

Priapus  and  the  fountain  Nymphs  may  look. 

And  if,  as  when  the  Libyan  Chromis  thou 

In  singing  did'st  surpass,  thou  singest  now. 

Then  I  will  let  thee  milk  my  she-goat  thrice. 

The  mother  of  two  new-born  kids,  and  twice. 

At  every  milking,  shall  she  fill  thy  pail. 

I  promise,  too,  to  give  thee  without  fail 

A  bowl  of  ivy-wood,  with  wax  besmeared. 

Fresh  from  the  carver's  knife,  deep  and  two- 
eared. 

About  the  rim  thick  leaves  of  ivy  twine. 

And  mingle  with  a  golden-flowered  vine  ; 

While,  clasping  round  the  bowl  with  many  a 
shoot, 

A  tendril  climbs,  gay  with  its  saffron  fruit. 

Inside,  with  godlike  art  a  woman  fair 

Is  fashioned,  clothed  in  curious  raiment  rare  ; 

A  fillet  on  her  lovely  brow  is  bound. 

And  men  with  drooping  love-locks  stand  around. 

Contending  for  her  in  alternate  speech. 

Not  all  their  words  her  careless  heart  may  reach. 

But  now  on  one  she  turns  her  light  gay  smile. 

And  now  upon  another  ;   they,  meanwhile, 

With  heavy  eyes  that  tell  of  sleepless  pain. 

And  long  love-vigils,  strive  for  her  in  vain. 

Near  them  an  ancient  fisherman  is  wrought. 

Who  to  a  rugged  rock  his  net  has  brought, 

5 


Theocritus.      And  labours  hard  to  cast  it  from  the  height- 
He  looks  as  if  he  worked  with  all  his  might  ; 
The  sinews  swell  upon  his  neck  ;  in  truth, 
Though    old,  his    strength   is  as  the  strength  of 

youth. 
From  him,  divided  by  a  little  space. 
Carved  in  the  bowl,  there  is  a  vineyard  place. 
The  purple  clusters  from  the  branches  fall, 
A  young  lad  watches  from  a  rough  stone-wall  ; 
One  little  fox  is  skulking  through  the  lines 
Of  grapes,  and  seeks  to  spoil  the  tender  vines ; 
Another  looks,  with  mischievous  intent. 
Upon  the  leathern  pouch,  on  stealing  bent. 
And  means  its  longed-for  contents  to  possess. 
Leaving  the  boy  bereft  and  breakfastless. 
While  he,  absorbed,  a  cage  for  locusts  weaves. 
Joining  together  reeds  and  stalks  and  leaves  ; 
He  cares  not  for  his  wallet,  nor  the  grapes. 
So  much  he  loves  the  plaited  work  he  shapes. 
Around  the  bowl,  carved  by  Aeolian  art. 
The  soft  acanthus  spreads  in  every  part : 
A  miracle  for  thee  to  look  upon. 
Once  from  a  ferryman  in  Chalydon 
I  bought  the  bowl,  and  paid  a  goat  to  him. 
Besides  a  great  white  cheese  ;  its  maiden  brim 
Has  never  touched  my  lips,  but  still  it  lies 
Unused,  and  freely  shalt  thou  have  the  prize. 
I  shall  not  grudge  its  being  thine  to-day. 
If  thou  wilt  sing  me  now  thy  lovely  lay. 
Begin,  while  yet  is  time  ;   thy  songs,  my  friend. 
In  Hades  and  oblivion  shall  end. 


Song   of   Thyrsis  Theocritus. 

Thyrsis. 

Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  strain  ! 

This  is  the  voice  of  Thyrsis  come  again. 

Where  were  ye  nymphs  when  vour  loved   Daph- 

nis  died. 
In  Peneus'  glade,  or  on  great  Pindus'  side  ? 
For  neither  were  ye  by  Anapus'  stream. 
Nor  yet  where  Acis'  holy  waters  gleam  ; 
By  Etna's  watch-tower  ye  took  not  your  way. 

Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  lay  ! 
For  him  the  jackals  and  the  wolves  did  cry. 
The  lion  wept  that  such  a  youth  should  die. 

Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  song  ! 
About  his  feet  there  pressed  a  crowded  throng 
Of  kine  and  bulls,  young  calves  and  heifers  there. 

Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  air  ! 
First  Hermes  came,  down-hastening  from  the  hill. 
He  asked:    "  O  Daphnis!   who  doth  thee  this  ill  ? 
Whom   dost  thou    love,  my   child,  with  so  much 
pain  ? ' ' 

Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  strain  ! 
About  him  neatherds,  shepherds,  goatherds  came. 
Beseeching  him  his  weary  woe  to  name. 
Priapus,  meeting  him  so  far  astray. 
Said  :  "  Wretched  Daphnis,  wastest  thou  away  ? 


Theocritus.      Behold,  she  seeketh  thee,  thy  maiden  fleet. 
By  vale  and  fountain  borne  on  flying  feet  ; 
Thou  art  a  laggard  and  a  luckless  swain  !  " 


Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  strain  ! 
Daphnis  would  neither  answer  nor  attend. 
But  bare  his  bitter  love  unto  the  end  ; 
Unto  the  fated  end  his  love  he  bare. 


Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  air  ! 
Next  Cypris  came  and  smiled  with  crafty  art ; 
Her  smile  was  sweet,  but  wrath  was  in  her  heart. 
She  said  :  "  O  foolish  Daphnis  !   thou  didst  vow 
To  give  a  fall  to  cruel  Love,  but  now 
That  thou  art  thrown  by   him,  what  canst  thou 
say  r 

Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  lay  ! 
He  answered:  "Cypris  dread,  insatiate. 
Implacable,  whom  all  men  jusdy  hate  ; 
Though  thou  mayst  think  my  latest  sun  is  set, 
Daphnis  shall  conquer  Love  in  Hades  yet." 


Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  strain  ! 
The  herdsman  said  to  Cypris  :  *•  Go  again 
To  Ida,  to  thy  loved  Anchises  go  : 
There  are  the  oaks,  here  the  rank  grasses  grow  ; 
And  here  the  bees  are  humming  everywhere." 

8 


Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  air  !  Theocritus. 

"  Adonis  now  is  in  his  lovely  prime  ; 

He  herds  his  sheep,  it  is  the  accustomed  time 

For  him  to  hunt  the  boar  and  slay  the  hare." 

Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  air  ! 

**  Go  back  again,  and  tell  thy  Diomed 

Thou  hast  slain  Daphnis  ;  fight  with  him  instead." 

Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  air  ! 

"  O  wolf,  and  jackal,  and  cave-dwelling  bear  ! 

Your  Daphnis  bids  you  a  long  last  farewell. 

For  nevermore  in  forest,  grove,  or  dell 

Shall  ye  again  behold  him  ;   now  good-night, 

O  Arethusan  fount,  and  rivers  bright 

That  down  the  Thymbris  pour  your  waters  fair." 


Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  air  ! 

*'  I  am  the  herdsman  Daphnis  who  doth  bring 

His     bulls  and  cows    to    drink    from    this      fresh 

spring  ; 
Who  in  these  grassy  pastures  doth  belong." 


Begin,  dear  Muses,  sing  the  pastoral  song  ! 

"O  Pan  !      O  Pan  !      If  on  Lycaeus'  hill 

Or  mighty  Maenalus  thou  rangest  still. 

Come  hither  to  our  far  Sicilian  isle, 

Leaving  the  cairn  of  Helicc  awhile. 

The  tomb  built  where  Lycaon's  daughter  lies, 

A  wonder  to  the  gods*  immortal  eyes." 


Theocritus.      Ye  pastoral  Muses,  cease,  forget  to  sing  ! 

"  Come,  take  this  sweet-breathed   pipe,   O   Pan, 

my  King  ! 
My  pipe  with  fair  white  wax  together  bound. 
And  fitly  for  the  player's  lip  curved  round. 
I  go  to  Hades,  dragged  by  Love  along  !  " 


Ye  pastoral  Muses,  cease,  forget  your  song  ! 
«•  Let  violets  on  thorns  and  brambles  blow. 
And  soft  narcissus  on  rough  branches  grow  ; 
Let   all     things     change,    ripe   pears  on   pines   be 

found. 
Since  Daphnis  dies  ;   let  hinds  pursue  the  hound  ; 
Let  mountain  owls  strive  with  the  nightingale." 

Ye  Muses,  cease,  forget  your  pastoral  tale  ! 
He  stopped,   and  then  was  Aphrodite  fain 
To  call  him  back  to  life,  but  all  in  vain. 
The  fates  had  spun  out  all  his  thread  at  last. 
And  Daphnis  down  the  stream  went  floating  past. 
The  whirling  wave  his  lovely  head  closed  o'er. 
The  head  the  Muses  and  the  Nymphs  adore. 

Ye  Muses,  cease,  forget  your  pastoral  lay  ! 
Give  me  thy  bowl,  give  me  thy  goat,  I  pray. 
That,  having  milked,  I  may   libation  make. 
Before  I  go,  for  the  kind  Muses'  sake. 
Adieu,  ye  Muses,  many  times  adieu. 
Next  time  I'll  sing  a  sweeter  song  to  you. 

lo 


Goatherd.  Theocritm. 

Oh,  may  thy  mouth  be  filled  with  honey  sweet. 
And  with  the  honey-comb  ;   and  may'st  thou  eat 
The  rich  dried  fig  that  comes  from  Aegilus, 
Since  thou  hast  vanquished  the  cicala  thus  ! 
Here  take  the   cup,  my   Thyrsis  ;   sweet   its  smell 
As  if  the  Hours  had  dipped  it  in  their  well. 
Cissaetha  waits  fisr  thee  to  milk  her ;   come. 
Ye  naughty  goats,  be  not  so  quarrelsome  ! 

IDYL    III 

Amaryllis 

IN  this  idyl  a  goatherd,  leaving  his  flock  on 
the  hillside,  in  charge  of  Tityrus,  serenades 
the  fair  Amaryllis,  in  front  of  her  cavern 
that  is  thickly  overgrown  with  a  screen  of  ivy 
and  fern.  He  promises  her  apples  —  always  the 
gift  of  love  —  and  a  milk-white  kid;  complaining 
bitterly  of  her  cruelty,  although  he  admits  that 
it  has  long  been  foretold  to  him  both  by  the  fail- 
ure of  the  love-charm,  and  by  the  old  witch  in 
whose  company  he  has  bound  the  sheaves.  He 
then  recounts  the  names  of  famous  and  happy 
lovers  of  old,  and  ends  by  threatening  to  lie  down 
and  die  on  the  spot. 

COME,  I  will  sing  to  her  now,  the  dear  young 
maid  Amaryllis, 
While  on  the  mountain  my  goats  are  feeding,  and 
Tityrus  drives  them. 

1 1 


Theocritus.      Tityrus,    feed    my    flocks  ;    oh,    feed  them,   my 

dearly-beloved  ! 
Lead  them  up  to  the  spring,  and,  Tityrus,  hark  to 

my  warning  : 
Shun    the  old    Libyan    he-goat,    or    he    will    be 

certain   to  butt  thee. 

Oh,  my  fair  Amaryllis  !   no  more  at   the  door  of 

the  cavern 
Standest  thou  as  before  to  shoot  a  shy  glance  at 

thy  lover. 
Calling  to  him  as  he  passes  ;  and  dost  thou  dislike 

him  in  earnest  ? 

Now  thou    has  seen  me    beside    thee,   am    1   so 

unpleasant  a  fellow  ? 
Pray,  is  my  nose  too  flat,  or  is  it  my  chin  that  is 

ugly  ? 
Thou  wilt  force  me  to  hang  myself  in  despair,  let 

me  tell  thee. 

Here,  I  bring  thee  ten  apples  I  plucked  from  the 

place  in  the  orchard 
Where    thou    didst  ask  me  to  pluck   them  ;    I'll 

bring  thee  as  many  to-morrow. 

See,  I  am  cut  to  the  heart  by  all  thy  bitterness 

toward  me  ! 
Oh,  that  I  were  as  the  bee  that  buzzes  about  thy 

cavern. 
Entering  in  through  the  screen  of  fern  and   thick- 


growmg  ivy  ! 


12 


Now  I   have  seen  what  Love  is,   I   know  he  is    Theocritus. 

wicked  and  cruel. 
Surely  a  lioness  mother  has  reared  him  afar  in  the 

forest  ; 
Me  he  bums  to  the  bone  and  with  his  fire  con- 

sumeth. 

Though  thou  art  fair  to  look  at,  alas  !   thou  art 

stony-hearted  ; 
Dark-browed    damsel,    come    hither,   that   I,    thy 

goatherd,   may   kiss  thee  ; 
Even  in  empty  kisses  there  is  a  delicate  rapture. 

Soon  wilt  thou  make  me  tear  in  pieces  the  flowery 
garland 

Kept  for  thee,  Amaryllis,  my  garland  woven  of 
ivy. 

Mingled  with  buds  of  roses,  and  curling  sweet- 
smelling  parsley. 

What  shall  become  of  me  now,  poor  wretch, 
since  thou  wilt  not   hear  me  ? 

Casting  away  my  coat,  I'll  jump  in  the  swelling 

billow. 
Jump    from    the    place    where    Olpis     the    fisher 

watches  the  mackerel  ; 
Then,    though   I   fail   to  perish,    I  yet  shall    have 

done  thee  a   pleasure. 

'3 


Theocritus.      Long,  long  ago    1    knew  it,  as  once  I  played  with 

the  love-charm. 
Trying  to  find  from  a  leaf  if  my  sweetheart  loved 

me  or  hated  ; 
There  on  my  arm  it  withered,  and   neither  clung 

nor  crackled. 


Truly  she  spake  to  me  then,  the  witch,  the  di- 
viner of  fortunes. 

When  she  bound  the  sheaves  with  me,  in  the 
path  of  the  reapers. 

Saying  I  lived  for  thee,  but  that  to  thee  I  was 
nothing. 


Yes,  a  milk-white  goat  with  kids  for  thee  I  am 
keeping. 

Those  that  the  sun-burnt  maid  of  Mermon  is 
ever  demanding  ; 

Lo  !  I  will  give  them  to  her,  if  thou  continue  co- 
quetting. 


There,  my  right  eyelid  is  twitching  !   I  think  that 

it  means  she  is  coming. 
If  I   go  on    with   my  song,  as  I  lean  in  the  shade 

of  the  pine-tree. 
Then  she  will  see  me,  perhaps,  for  she  cannot  be 

all  adamantine. 

14 


Hippoinenes,    when    ot    old    he   courted   a   fleet-     Theocrittts. 

footed  virgin, 
Carried  a  handful  of  apples,  and  ran   his  race  to 

the  ending  ; 
Atalanta  looked,   and  longed,   and  loved  him  to 

madness. 

Once  the  seer   Melampus,  who  led  the  herd  of 

oxen. 
Brought  them  to   Pylos  in  safety,  and    so  in  the 

arms  of  Bias 
Lay  the  lovely  mother  of  virtuous  Alphesiboea. 

Was    it   not   thus  on   the   hills   that    the   youthful 

shepherd  Adonis 
Tended  his   flock  and  drove  the  fair  Cytherea  to 

frenzy. 
So  that  although  he  is  dead,  she  clasps  him  still 

to  her  bosom  ? 

Blest  is  Endymion  sleeping   the  sleep  that  knows 

no  arousing ; 
Blest,  also,  my  beloved,  I  hold  the  hero  Jason, 
Whom    high    fortunes    befell,    and    wonders   un- 
known to  the  vulgar. 

Ah,     my    head,    how    it  aches  !   I'll   cease,   and 

stop  my  singing. 
I    shall   lie    down  and  die,   and   the  wolves  may 

come  and   devour  me  ; 
Sweet  as  honey  to   thee  may  be  the   news  of  my 

dying! 

'5 


Theocritus. 

IDYL    V 

COMATAS    AND     LaCON 

COMATAS,  a  goatherd  in  the  service  of 
Eumares,  and  Lacon,  a  shepherd  in  the 
service  of  Sibyrtas,  meet  by  accident  as 
they  are  driving  their  flocks.  After  a  good  deal  of 
banter  and  jeering  on  both  sides,  they  agree  upon 
their  stakes,  call  in  a  woodcutter  as  umpire  between 
the  two,  and  begin  the  usual  singing-match. 

The  woodcutter  assigns  the  prize  to  Comatas, 
who  is  greatly  delighted. 

Melanthius,  referred  to  by  Comatas,  is  the 
treacherous  goatherd  in  the  Odyssey. 

The  scene  is  laid  near  Thurium,  a  town  built 
by  the  Athenians  in  Southern  Italy,  on  the  ruins 
of  the  older  Sybaris.  When  Eumares  is  spoken 
of  as  belonging  to  Sybaris,  it  is  as  a  descendant  of 
one  of  the  former  inhabitants  of  that  town. 

Comatas. 

OH,  fly,  my  little  flock  of  goats  !      From  Lacon 
fly  away, 
Sibyrtas'  shepherd,  for  he  stole  my  goatskin  yes- 
terday. 

Lacon. 
Will    not    ye   leave    the  spring,   my   lambs,    and 

can't  ye  look  and    see 
Comatas   coming,  him   that  took   my   pretty  pipe 

from  me  .^ 

16 


Comatas.  Theocritus. 

What  pipe,  thou  slave  ?     A  pipe  of  thine  I  never 

looked  upon. 
Was  it  not  quite  enough  for  thee  with  clownish 

Corydon 
To  pass  the  time  in  whistling  through  a  wretched 

flute  of  straw  ? 

Lacon. 
The  pipe  that  Lycon  gave  me,  sir ;  but  pray  who 

ever  saw 
Me  carrying  off  a  skin  of  thine :      Come,  answer 

me  aright  ! 
Not  even  has  thy  master  one  to  keep  him  warm 

at  night. 

Comatas. 
The  dappled  skin  that   Crocylos  gave  me  from  his 

she-goat. 
When,    sacrificing   to    the    Nymphs,    he    cut   the 

creature's  threat. 
With  envv  thou  wast  pining   then,  and  now  thou 

stripst  me  bare. 

Lacon. 
No,  no!   by   Pan,    the    guardian    great  of  all   the 

shore,  I  swear 
I    never  took  thy  goatskin  coat,  and  from   these 

rocks  forsooth 
May  I  leap  down  a  frenzied   man,  if  I  speak  not 

the  truth. 

17 


Theocritus.  Comatas. 

Now  by  the  fair   Nymphs  of  rhe  mere,  I  too  can 

swear,  my  friend. 
So  be  they  mild  and  merciful   until   my  life  shall 

end, 
If  anybody  stole  thy  pipe,  I  never  was  the  thief. 


La  con. 

If  I  believe  thee,  let  me  bear  the  weight  of 
Daphnis'   grief ! 

But  if  thou  care  to  set  a  stake  of  little  worth,  thy 
kid, 

I'll  sing  with  thee  and  never  cease  till  thou  thy- 
self forbid. 


Comatas. 
They  say  the  great  Athene  once  was  challenged 

by  a  swine  ! 
There  lies  my  kid  ;    do  thou  set  up  a   well-fed 

lamb  of  thine. 


Lac  on. 

Thou  cunning  fox  !  That  is  for  me  a  too  un- 
equal stake  ; 

For  who,  if  he  could  shear  a  sheep,  a  kid  would 
choose  to  take  ? 

And  who,  if  he  could  milk  a  goat,  a  dog  would 
not  despise  ? 

i8 


Comatas.  Theocritus. 

A  fellow  quite  as  sure  as  thou  that  he  must  win 
the  prize 

Is  like  the  buzzing  wasp  against  the  shrill  cicala 
sweet. 

Behold  !  1  stake  a  goat  instead  ;  begin,  I  do  en- 
treat. 


Lacon. 

No   haste  !      Thou   art   not  burning   up  ;   besides, 

more  sweetly  far 
Thou    mayest    sing  within   the  grove  where  the 

wild  olives  are  ; 
There    water    cool    is    trickling    down,    but    soft 

green   grass   is   here  ; 
A    bed  of  leaves    is   thickly   strown    and  locusts 

chatter  near. 


Comatas. 

There  is  no  haste  ;  but  let  me  say,  it  is  a  sad  dis- 
grace 

That  thou  shouldst  dare  so  unabashed  to  look  me 
in  the  face. 

I  taught  thee  while  thou  wast  a  child  ;  this  is  thy 
gratitude  ! 

Bring  up  wolf-whelps,  and,  in  return,  be  bitten  by 
the  brood. 

19 


Theocritus.  Lacon. 

What  good  thing  have  I  ever  learned  from  thee 

since  I  began  ? 
Thou  art  an  evil,  envious  thing,  a  wretched  little 

man. 
But  come  this  vi^ay,  oh,  come  to  me  and  sing  thy 

country  catch  ! 

Comatas. 

I  will  not  go  where  thou  dost  call   to  hold  our 

singing-match. 
The  oaks  are  growing  there,   but    here  the  rich 

rank  sedges  thrive. 
And  here  the  bees  are  flying  round  and  humming 

toward  the  hive. 
Twin  fountains,  too,  are  bubbling  up  with  water 

icy  chill. 
And  in  the  branches  of  the  tree  the  birds  their 

carols  trill. 
More  deep  and   grateful  is  the  shade  than   there 

where  thou  art  gone. 
While  from  the  lofty  pine  above,  the  cones  drop 

one  by  one. 

Lacon. 

Oh  !  if  thou  wilt   but  come  to  me,  a   carpet   thou 

shalt  tread. 
Softer    than    sleep,    of   snowy  wool    and    tender 

fleeces  spread  ; 

20 


Whereas  the  goatskins  that  thou  hast  give  forth  an    Theocritus. 

evil  smell. 
And  1  will  set  a  bowl  of  milk,   another,  too,  as 

well. 
Of  odorous  oil  to  please  the  Nymphs,  —  for  them 

an  offering  meet. 

Comatas. 

Nay,  come  this  way  and  thou  shalt  find  that, 
underneath  thy   feet. 

Are  flowering  thyme  and  feathered  fern,  and  also 
softer  far 

Than  all  the  fleeces  of  thy  lambs,  my  skins  of  she- 
goats  are. 

And  I  will  ofi^er  up  to  Pan  eight  bowls  filled  to 
the  brim 

With  milk,  and  eight  with  honeycombs,  a  sacri- 
fice to  him. 

Lacon. 

Begin,  sing  there  thy  shepherd's  song,  since  there 

thou  wish  to  stay  ; 
Tread  thine  own  skins  and   keep  thine  oaks  all  to 

thyself,  I  pray. 
Oh,   that  Lycopas   might    come   here,    to    judge 

betwixt  us  both  ! 

Comatai. 
The  cowherd  .''      No,  I   like  him   not  ;   but   I  am 
nothing  loath 

21 


Theocritus.      To  call    Morson,  the  woodcutter,    for   surely    that 
is  he 
Plucking  the  tufts  of  heather  bloom  not  very  far 
from   thee. 

Lacon. 
Then  let  us  call. 

Comatas. 

Do  thou  speak  first. 

Lacon. 

Oho! 

look  here,  thou  swain  ! 
Come  listen  to  our  singing  match  and   say  which 

of  the  twain 
Is  best  at  a  sweet  rustic  song  ;  and,  Morson,  keep 

in  mind 
Thou  must  not  favour  me  too  much,  nor  be   to 

him  too  kind. 

Comatas. 

Yes,  Morson,   dear,  by  all  the  Nymphs  !  let  not 

thy  heart  incline 
Toward  me,  nor  let  thy  judgment  lean  more   to 

his  side  than  mine. 
The  Thurian  Sibyrtas  owns   this   flock  of    sheep, 

and  this 
Of   goats  belongs  to   Eumares  who  comes  from 

Sybaris. 

22 


Lacon.  Theocritus. 

By    Zeus!     who    ever  asked    of    thee    that  thou 

shouldst  thus  impart 
This  information  of  my   flock  ?     A  babbHng  fool 

thou  art  ! 

Comatas. 
And   yet,  O  best  of  men  !  believe  I  always  speak 

the  truth 
And  never   boast  ;   but   thou  hast   been  a  scolder 

from  thy  youth. 

Lacon. 
Come,    say    thy    say,  if  thou  intend   to  let    poor 

Morson  live 
To   get  safe  home.     Apollo,  Lord  !   thou  art  too 

talkative. 

The   Singing-match. 

Comatas. 
The  Muses  love  me  very  much  ;   they  loved  not 

Daphnis  so  ; 
I  sacrificed  two  goats  to  them  a  little  while  ago. 

Lacon. 

Apollo  has  me  in   his  care  ;   he  loves  me  best  of 
all  : 

A  rambling   ram   1    rear  for  him  to  grace  his  festi- 
val. 

23 


Theocritus.  Comatas. 

My  good  she-goats  have  all  borne    twins,    save 

only   two  or   three  ; 
'•  Poor  fellow,  dost  thou  milk  alone  ?  "  the  maiden 

calls  to  me. 


Lacon. 

Lo  !  Lacon  has  almost  a  score  of  baskets  full  of 

cheese  ; 
And   Lacon   loves  among   the   flowers   to   stretch 

himself  at  ease. 


Comatas. 
With  apples  Clearista  pelts  the  goatherd  driving 

His  flock  of  goats,  and   breathes  for  him  a  softly 
murmured  sigh. 

Lacon. 

But  I  to  madness  do  adore  the  fairest  of  the  fair  ; 
I  love  a  white  and  slender  throat  and  clouds  of 
shining  hair. 

Comatas. 

Ye  may  not  liken   the  dog-briar  unto  the  perfect 

rose 
That  climbs  against  the  shelt'ring  wall  within  the 

garden  close. 

24 


Lacon.  Theocritus. 

Nor    may    the    arid    acorn    be    beside    the    apple 

placed  ; 
For  that  is  bitter  in  the  rind,  but  this  is  sweet  to 

taste. 

Comatas. 
A   brooding  ring-dove   1  will  give  to  her  whom  I 

love   best  ; 
I   know   the  tree  of  juniper  wherein   is  built  its 

nest. 

Lacon. 
And   I   a  fleece  of  warm   soft  wool  will  give  my 

dearest  dear,  \ 

To  make  a  cloak,  when   once  again  my  blackest 

ewe   I  shear. 

Comatas. 

Stop  bleating  by  the  olive-tree  ;  come  here,  my 
goats,    to  frisk. 

And  feed  upon  this  gentle  slope,  beneath  the  tam- 
arisk. 

Lacon. 
Come  leave   the  oaks,  come,  Conaros,  Cynaetha, 

come,    thou  beast  ! 
And    graze   beside    thy     Phalaros,    here    fronting 

toward  the   East. 

25 


Jheotritus.  Comatas. 

I  keep  a  bowl  of  cypress-wood  to  give  my  girl  ;  a 

cup, 
The  work  of  great   Praxiteles,  for  her  I   treasure 

up. 

Lacon. 
I  have  a  dog  that  loves  the  flock,  a  trusty  dog 

that  kills 
The  wolf;  I'll  lend  him  to  my  love  for  hunting  in 

the  hills. 

Comatas. 
Ye  locusts,  that  will  overleap  the  prickly  hedges 

set 
About  the  vineyards,  spare  the  vines,  for  they  are 

tender  yet. 

Lacon. 
Look   here,  ye   chirping  grasshoppers!  see  how  I 

chafe  and   tease 
The  goatherd,  as  ye  also  chafe  the  mowers  when 

ye  please. 

Comatas. 
I  hate  the  little  foxes  sly  that  slink,  with   bushy 

tails. 
To  eat  the  grapes    of  Micon's  vines,    when  first 

the  daylight  fails. 

26 


Lacon.  Theocritus. 

I  hate  the  winged  lady -birds  that  fly  too  oft  to 

find 
Philondas'  ripening  figs,  and  flit  so  fast  before  the 

wind. 

Comatas, 

Dost  thou  remember  how   it  was  that   when   thy 

head   I   broke. 
Thou   then  didst  smile  awry,   and    writhe,    and 

catch   at  yonder  oak  ? 

Lacon. 

No,  I   do  not  remember  that,  but  this  indeed  I 

do. 
That  Eumares  once  bound  thee  there,  and  flogged 

thee,  justly,  too. 

Comatas. 

O   Morson  !    some  one  waxes   cross  !  Hast  thou 

not   understood  ?  — 
Go  seek  a  witch's  grave  and   pluck   the  squills  to 

cure  thy  mood. 

Lacon. 

Ha!    Morson,  I   tease    some   one  too;  thou  must 

have  seen  it  then  ;  — 
Go  to  the  brink  of  Hales'   stream,   and   dig  the 

cyclamen. 

27 


Theocritm.  Comatas. 

Let   Himera  flow   white   with  milk,   and   Crathis 

red  with   wine  ; 
And  let  the  reeds  upon  the  banks  bring  forth  a 

fruit  divine. 

Lacon. 
Oh,    may  the  fount  of  Sybaris  with  honey   run 

until 
The  little  damsel  go  at  dawn  her  pitcher  there   to 

fill  ! 

Comatas. 
My  goats  with  honeysuckle  buds  and  cytisus  are 

fed; 
They  lie  upon  arbutus  leaves,  and  on  the  lentisk 

tread. 

Lacon. 
The  honey-scented  balm  grows  here  to  feed  my 

tender  ewes  ; 
And  countless  vines  of  wild  roses  their  wand'ring 

flowers  diffuse. 

Comatas. 
No  longer,  after  yesterday,  Alcippe  do  I  love  ; 
She  kissed  me  not,  nor  stroked  my  chejk  when  1 

gave  her  the  dove. 

28 


Lacon.  Theocritus. 

Yet  for  my  part,  for  some  one  else  with  grateful 

love  I  burn  ; 
For  when  I  gave  a  shepherd's  pipe,  a  kiss  was 

mv  return. 

Comatas. 

0  Lacon  !    let    not  magpies  dare  with    nightin- 
gales to  sing. 

Nor    hoopoe-birds    with    swans  ;     thou    art    too 
fond  of  quarrelling. 

Mors  on. 

1  bid  the  shepherd  stop  his  song.      Comatas.   I 
declare 

The  lamb  is  thine,  and  if,  anon,  thou  wish,  with 

pious  care. 
To  sacrifice  her  to  the  Nymphs,  send  me,  I  beg, 

a  share. 

Comatas. 
I  will,  by  Pan  !      And  all  ye  goats,  go  snort  and 

spring  about  ! 
Oh,   look  and  see  how   I  exult,  and  laugh  aloud 

and  shout  ! 
Lacon   is    badly   beaten   now  ;   the  little  lamb    is 

giv'n 
A  orizc  ro  me    and  I  will  jump  with  joy  as  high 

as  heav'n. 

29 


Theocritus.      Take  heart,  my  herd  of  horned  goats,  to-morrow 

I  do  mean 
Within    the  fount  of  Sybaris  to  wash   you  white 

and   clean. 
But  if  thou   touch   one  of  my   flock,  thou   white 

goat  over  there, 
Before  I  sacrifice  the  lamb,  I'll   thrash  thee  well, 

I  swear. 
I  see  he's  doing  it  again  :   unless  I  beat  him  sore. 
Call  me  Melanthius  and  not  Comatas  any  more  ! 


IDYL    VI 

Daphnis  and   Damoetas 

Two  herdsmen,  Damoetas  and  Daphnis, 
meeting  together  at  a  fountain-side  in  Sicily, 
carry  on  a  triendly  contest  of  song  in  alter- 
nate verse,  Damoetas  takes  the  part  of  Polyphe- 
mus sitting  on  a  rock  by  the  sea,  watching  the 
nymph  Galatea  as  she  sports  in  the  clear  waves. 
Daphnis  speaks  as  a  spectator  trying  to  rouse  the 
attention  of  Polyphemus  by  describing  the  beguil- 
ing arts  of  Galatea. 

Damoetas  and  Daphnis  prove  themselves 
equally  skilful  singers,  and  exchange  flute  and 
pipe   with  joy. 

Aratus,  to  whom  this  idyl  is  addressed,  was 
the  author  of  the  poem  quoted  by  St.  Paul,  his 
fellow-countryman.  Acts  xvii.,  28.  He  is  also 
mentioned  in  Idyl  VII. 

30 


ONCE    as    young    Daphnis    his   sleek   herd   was    Theocritus. 
tending 
(Listen,  Aratus  !)  in  a  pastoral  place. 
He  met  Damoetas  who  was  thither  wending. 
The  first  soft  down  of  manhood  on  his  face. 


The  hot  and  sultry  summer  noon  was  burning 
When  they  sat  down  beside  a  bubbling  spring  : 
Then  Daphnis,  quickly  to  his  comrade  turning. 
Challenged  him  first,  and  first  began  to  sing. 

Daphnis  addresses  Damoetas  as  Polyphemus. 

"Look,  Polyphemus  !   Galatea,  hitting 

Thy    sheep   with    apples,    mocks     at    thee     and 

cries 
That    thou   art    crossed  in    love  ;  but    thou     art 

sitting. 
And,  pleased  with  piping,  liftest  not  thine  eyes. 

"  Look,  look  again  !      Another  apple  throwing, 
She   pelts   the    dog     that    guards    thy    flock     for 

thee  ; 
He   barks    upon     the    beach  ;     now   watch     him 

going 
Along  the  margin  of  the  plashmg  sea  ! 

«'  For  brightly  through  the  clear  green  waves  ap- 
pearing, 
He  sees  the  white  limbs  of  the  maiden  shine  ; 

3' 


Theocritus.     Take    heed    and    call    him,    lest    he    should     be 
tearing 
Her   fair    smooth   flesh   when   she   steps   from  the 
brine. 

*'  But  she  is  still  coquetting  with  light  laughter, 
Like  thistledown  upon  a  summer's  day  ; 
For  when  thou  fliest  her,  she  follows  after. 
And  when  thou  followest,  she  flies  away. 

"  Yes,  all  she  can  the  little  witch  is  doing 
To  make  thee  look  at  her  ;   for  all  is  fair 
In  love,  O  Polyphemus  ! ' '      Then  pursuing 
The  song,  Damoetas  next  struck  up  the  air. 

Damoetas  answers  as   Polyphemus. 

*'  I  saw,  by  Pan  !   the  apples  she  was  shying  ; 
Yes,  by  the  sweet  light  of  my  single  eye. 
With  which  I  hope  to  see  until  my  dying. 
In  rpite  of  Telemos',  the  prophet's,  cry. 

**  Let  that  grim  seer  take  home  his  sorry  saying, 
'jid  tell  it  to  the  babes  upon  his  knee  ; 
But  now,  no  more  attention  to  her  paying, 
I'll  say  I  love  a  milder  maid  than  she. 

•*  She  will  be  madly  jealous,  O  Apollo  ! 
When  she  hears  this,  and  quite  forget  her  pride. 
And  rushing  from  the  water,  she  will  follow 
To  find  the  cave  where  with  my  flock  I  hide. 

32 


*'  Then  I  will  hiss  and  set  the  dog  upon  her,  Theocritus. 

The  dog  that  used  to  welcome  her  with  glee  ; 
And   when    she    sees    the    rudeness   1  have   done 

her. 
She'll  send  a  messenger  to  treat  with  me. 


"  But  I  will  close  my  doors,  no  one  admitting. 
Until  she  swear  that  she  will  spread  for  me 
A  couch  upon  this  island,  as  is  fitdng. 
I'm  not  so  ugly  as  I'm  said  to  be  : 


"  For  lately,  as  it  happened  I  was  gazing 
Upon  my  image  in  the  glassy  sea, 
I  thought  the  beauty  of  my  face  amazing. 
And  that  my  eye  was  bright  exceedingly. 


'*  It  seemed  to  me  that  with  my  teeth  in  white- 
ness 

The  purest  Parian  stone  could  never  vie  ; 

Then,  lest  I  should  be  punished  for  my  light- 
ness, 

I  tried  the  charm  against  the  evil  eye." 


At  last  Damoetas,  who  had  sung  his  measure. 
Kissed    Daphnis,  and  received  from  him  his  flute. 
Giving  away  his  pipe  in  turn  with  pleasure. 
And  Daphnis  left  the  pipe  no  longer  mute. 

33 


Theoiritus.      Damoetas    played    the    Bute,    while    round    them 
leaping. 
The  heifers  sprang  in  soft  green  meadow-grass  ; 
Thus,  neither  of  the  youths  the  victory  reaping. 
Each  was  unvanquished,  as  it  came  to  pass. 


IDYL   VII 
The   Harvest   Feast 

THEOCRITUS,  under  the  name  of  Simi- 
chidas,  makes  an  excursion,  in  company 
with  certain  intimate  friends,  to  the  farm  of 
Phrasidemus,  who  is  celebrating  the  Harvest  Feast 
of  Demeter.  On  the  way,  under  the  hot  mid- 
day sun,  they  overtake  Lycidas,  a  goatherd,  and 
after  some  conversation,  in  which  Theocritus 
alludes  to  his  favourite  masters  in  poetry,  Lycidas 
is  persuaded  to  sing  a  song  of  his  own  making. 
Theocritus,  in  the  person  of  Simichidas,  then  re- 
plies with  one  of  his,  celebrating  the  loves  of  the 
well-known  poet  Aratus.  After  this  they  sepa- 
rate very  pleasantly,  and  the  party  of  friends 
continues  its  way  to  the  Harvest  Feast. 

Then  follows  the  description  of  an  afternoon 
in  the  late  summer,  when  all  things  have  reached 
the  fulness  of  perfection. 

The  sweet  singer  Comatas,  mentioned  in  the 
song  of  Lycidas,  was  a  goatherd  who  used  to 
sacrifice  his  master's  goats  to  the  Muses.  In 
revenge,    his   master    locked    him    up   in   a  cedar 

34 


chest,  but   because  of  the   nectar  the    Muses   had    Theocritus. 
dropped   upon   his   lips,   the    bees  came   and   fed 
him  with  honey,  so  that  after  the  space  of  a  year 
he  was  found  still  alive. 

Simichidas  speaks  of  the  Loves  having  sneezed, 
as  sneezing  was  considered  a  good  omen. 

The  scene  is  probably  in  the  island  of  Cos. 

ONCE  Eucritus  and  I  walked  out  from  town 
Toward  Hales'  stream; — Amyntas  was  the 

third  — 
For  Phrasidemus  and  Antigenes, 
Lycopeus'  sons,  were  holding  Harvest  Home. 
They  came  of  high-descended  birth,  if  aught 
May  be  deemed  old  or  noble  ;   for  they  sprang 
From    Chalcon,    Clytia's    son,    who    pressed  his 

knee 
Against  the  rock,  when  a  clear  fountain  flowed 
Forth  at  his  feet,  and  straight  around  it  grew 
A  grove  of  poplars  dark,  and  shady  elms 
That  overarched   the  spring  with  branches  green. 
We  had  not  yet  left  half  the  way  behind. 
Nor  had  the  tomb  of  Brasilas  appeared. 
When,  by  the  Muses'  grace,  we  overtook 
A  Cretan  wayfarer,  a  kindly  man. 
Whose  name  was  Lycidas  ;  a  goatherd  he  — 
Nor    could    we    doubt,    for    from    his    shoulders 

drooped 
A  shaggv  yellow  goatskin  to  which  clung 
The    fragrance    of  fresh   cheese,   and    round   his 

breast 

35 


Theocritus.      A  broad  belt  buckled  in  his  mantle  old. 
In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  crooked  staff 
Made  from  wild  olive,  and  a  gentle  smile 
Played  ever  on  his  lips  and  gladly  gleamed 
Within  his  eyes,  as  thus  to  me  he  spake  : 

'•  Oh,  whither  art  thou  bound,  Simichidas, 

That  thou  dost  walk  beneath  the  noontide  sun  ? 

For  now  the  lizard  sleeps  upon  the  stone. 

And  every  crested  lark  has  gone  to  rest. 

I  think  thou  hastenest  to  some  man's  feast. 

Or  else  to  tread  the  wine  from  out  his  grapes. 

That  thy  steps  echo  on  the  pebbly  path." 

I  answered  him  :  **  O  Lycidas  !  they  say 

Among  the  shepherds  and  the  reapers  thou 

Art  best  of  flute-players,  and  we  rejoice  ; 

Yet  I  believe  that  I  can  vie  with  thee. 

We  three  are  going  to  the  Harvest  Feast, 

As  our  friends  there  perform  the  solemn  rites. 

With  offering  of  first-fruits  of  the  earth. 

In  honor  of  Demeter,  the  fair-robed  ; 

For  in  full  measure,  and  with  rich  increase 

Of  barley,  hath  she  blessed  their  threshing-floor. 

Come,    since    the    day   and    way    are    thine    and 

mine. 
For  pleasure,  let  us  pipe  a  pastoral  strain. 
I,  too,  have  the  clear  voice  the  Muses  love, 
And  many  call  my  songs  the  best  of  all. 
But  I  am  unconvinced,  for,  by  the  earth  ! 
To  my  own  mind,  I  never  could  surpass 

36 


Philetas,  nor  the  precious  Samian  bard.  Theocritus. 

Like  a  poor  frog  with  crickets,  so  I  chirp." 

Thus  said  I  purposely,  and  with  a  laugh 

The    goatherd     answered :     "  Here    I    give   my 

crook 
To  thee,  the  scion  of  almighty  Zeus, 
Because  thou  never  seekest  to  deceive. 
Hateful  to  me  as  the  bold  builder  is 
Who  rears  a  giant's  house,  raising  the  roof 
High  as  a  hill,  so  are  the  Muses'  birds 
Who  strive  to  drown  the  Chian  poet's  voice 
With  the  vain  cackle  of  their  silly  song. 
But  let  us  now  recite  our  rustic  verse  ; 
And  see,  Simichidas,  if  thou  like  this 
I  made  but  lately  on  the  mountain  side." 

The  Song   of  Lycidas. 
"May  Ageanax  a  prosperous  voyage  make 
To  Mytilene,  even  though  he  sail 
When  in  the  west  the  rainy  Kids  sink  low. 
Or  when  the  feet  of  old  Orion  rest 
Upon  the  ocean  floor,  and  the  vext  waves 
Are  tossed  and  driv'n  by  the  damp  south  wind. 
So  he  remember  to  requite  the  love 
Of  Lycidas  to  whom  he  is  so  dear. 

*'  And  may  the  Halcyons  smooth  out  the  deep, 
And  lull  the  south  wind  and  the  cast  that  blows 
The  salt  seaweed  upon  the  farthest  shores, 

37 


Tfuocritus.      The  Halcyons  of  all  the  birds  that  take 

Their  prey  from  out  the  sea,  the  best-belov'd 
By  the  green-tressed  maids  of  Nereus. 
Oh,   may  all  things  full  fit  and  fair  befall 
My  Ageanax,  until  in  time  his  ship 
To  Mytilene's  happy  haven  come  ! 

"That  day  shall  I,  with  crimson  roses  crowned. 
Or  with  white  violets,  or  wreathed  dill. 
Pour  out  the  wine  of  Ptelea  from  the  bowl. 
While  I  lie  by  the  fire,  and  some  one  roasts 
The  beans  upon  the  glowing  coals  for  me. 
And  elbow-deep  my  couch  shall  be  soft  strewn 
With  yellow  wild  flowers,  and  with  asphodel. 
And  leaves  of  curling  parsley,  green  and  fresh 
Lapt  in  luxurious  ease,  I'll  drink  the  health 
Of  Ageanax,  and  steep  my  lips  in  wine. 
Draining  the  cup  until  I  reach  the  lees. 

"Two  shepherd  lads  shall  play  the  flute  to  me. 
One  from  Acharne,  from  Lycope  one  ; 
Meanwhile,  in  tune  young  Tityrus  shall  sing 
How  once  the  herdsman  Daphnis  lov'd  a  lass. 
And  wandered  desolate  among  the  hills  ; 
And  how  the  oak-trees  sang  his  dirge,  —  the  oaks 
That  grow  along  the  banks  of  Himera's  stream, — 
While  he  was  wasting  like  the  winter  snows 
That  melt  in  spring  beneath  the  soaring  steep 
Of  Haemus  high,  Athos,  or  Rhodope, 
Or  Caucasus,  the  limit  of  the  world. 


•*  And  he  shall  tell  how  once  a  goatherd  lay  Theocritus. 

Imprisoned  still  alive,  within  a  chest. 

By  his  lord's  wicked  and  infatuate  will ; 

And  how  the  little  humming  bees,  that  came 

From  gathering  honey  in  the  happy  fields. 

Flew  toward  him  in  the  fragrant  cedar  chest. 

And  fed  him  with  their  flowery  food,  because 

The  Muse  had  dropped  sweet  nectar  on  his  lips. 


"  O  blest  Comatas  !  this  great  joy  was  thine. 
And  thou  didst  lie  a  captive  in  the  chest. 
Feeding  on  honey-dew  the  summer  long  ; 
But  would   that  in  my    days    thou    couldst  have 

been 
Still  numbered  with  the  living,  for  with  joy 
I  should  have  tended  all  thy  pretty  goats 
Upon  the  hills,  and  listened  to  thy  voice, 
Whilst  underneath  the  shade  of  oak  or  pine. 
Divine  Comatas,  thou  didst  sweetly  sing." 


He  ceased  from  chanting  thus,  and  then  I  said  : 
"Dear    Lycidas,   me,    too,    the    Nymphs     have 

taught 
A  thousand  other  songs,  as  on  the  hills 
My  herd  of  kinc  I  followed,  and  perchance 
Fame  may  have  borne  them  to  the  throne  of  Zeus. 
But  this  which  now  I  will  begin  to  sing. 
To  do  thee  honour,  far  exceeds  them  all. 
Oh,  listen,  as  thou  art  the  Muses'  friend  ! 

39 


Theocritus.  SoNG     OF     SlMiCHlDAS. 

♦•The  little  Loves  have  sneezed  to  bring  me  luck. 
And  I  love  Myrto  as  the  goats  love  Spring. 
Aratus,  too,  the  best  of  all  my  friends, 
Deep  down  within  his  heart  holds  hot  desire. 
Aristis  knows  it  —  he,  the  wise  and  good. 
Whom  ev'n  Apollo  would  permit  to  play. 
Beside  his  holy  tripods,  on  a  lyre  — 
Aristis  knows  Aratus  burns  with  love. 


**  And  thou,  O  Pan  !  who  keepest  in  thy  charge 
Malea's  lovely  plain,  bring  all  uncalled 
To  my  Aratus'  arms  his  dearest  love,  — 
Whoe'er     that    love    may    be,  —  and    oh,   dear 

Pan! 
If  thou  do  this,  may  no  Arcadian  boys 
Come  with  their  stinging  rods  to  flog  thy  sides 
And  shoulders,  when  they  see  too  small  a  share 
Of  meats  for  them  upon  thine  altar  left. 

•*  But  if  thou  shouldst  decide  another  way. 
Then  may  thy  skin   be    torn   and   scratched   with 

nails  ; 
And  be  it  thine  in  winter's  cold  to  dwell 
Where  down  the  drear  Edonian  hills  there  runs 
The  river  Hebrus  toward  the  Polar  star. 
And  in  the  summer  mayst  thou  wander  on 
Among  the  farthest  Ethiopians 
Beneath  the  heeding  clift'  of  the  Blemyes, 
Whence  none  may  see  the  waters  of  the  Nile. 

40 


"And  you,  ye  little  Loves,  with  cheeks  as  red         Theocritus. 

As  rosy  apples  ;  ye,  that  dwell  afar 

In  golden-haired  Dione's  lofty  home  ; 

Come,  leave  the  limpid  founts  of  Byblis  sweet, 

And  of  Hyetis  ;   bring  your  deadly  darts, 

And  strike  with  all  your  might  my  cruel  love  ; 

Oh,  strike  the  heart  that  will  not  pity  me  ! 

Behold,  my  love  is  like  the  pear  o'er-ripe. 

For  all  the  maidens  look  and  cry,  *  Alas  ! 

The  fair  bloom  of  the  flower  fades  away  !  ' 

**  Let  us  no  longer  watch  beside  these  doors, 
No  more,  Aratus,  bruise  our  tired  heels 
With  standing  here  in  vain  ;  and  let  the  cock 
Rouse  with  its  crowing  other  men  than  we 
To  feel  the  numbing  chill  of  early  dawn. 
Let  others  wrestle  here  and  be  hard  pressed  ; 
For  us  a  life  of  quietness  and  ease. 
And  some  old  crone  at  hand  to  work  the  charm 
That  scares  all  ugly  evil  things  away." 

I  sang,  and  he,  still  smiling  as  before. 

Gave  me  the  crook  for  his  dear  Muses'  sake  ; 

Then  turning  off  upon  the  left  he  took 

The  path  to  Pyxa  ;   Eucritus  and  I, 

And  that  fair  youth  Amyntas,  kept  our  way 

Toward  Phrasidemus'  farm.      There  on  soft  beds 

Of  fragrant  Icntisk  leaves  and  delicate  shoots 

Of  new-cut  vines,  high-heaped  upon  the  ground. 

We  lay  rejoicing,  while  above  our  heads 

The  elms  and  poplars  their  tall  branches  waved. 

4' 


Theocritus.      Hard  by,  from   out   the  Nymphs'  cool   cave,  the 
spring 
Of  sacred  water  gushed  with  murmuring  sound. 
On  shady  boughs  the  burnt  cicalas  piped 
Their  shrill  and  ceaseless  note  ;  afar,  an  owl 
Cried  from  its  nest  amid  a  brake  of  thorns. 
The  larks  and  linnets  sang,  the  ring-doves  cooed. 
The  yellow  bees  about  the  fountain  flew  ; 
The  breath  of  the  rich  summer  was  abroad. 
And  filled  the  air  with  scent  of  ripening  fruits. 
The  apples  rolled  beside  us  in  the  grass. 
The  pears  were  lying  at  our  feet,  and  plums 
Bent  down  the  tender  branches  of  the  trees  ; 
The  four  years'  seal  was  loosened  from  the  jar. 

Oh,   tell  me,  ye  Castalian  Nymphs  that  dwell 
Upon  Parnassus  Peak,  was  it  like  this. 
The  bowl  old  Chiron  in  the  rocky  cave 
Of  Pholus  set  before  great  Herakles  .'' 
The  nectar  that  beguiled  the  shepherd  fierce 
About  his  sheepfold  once  to  dance  and  trip,  — 
The  shepherd  of  Anapus,  him  who  hurled 
Mountains  at  ships,  the  mighty  Polypheme,  — 
Was  it  delicious  as  the  draught  that  flowed 
For  us,  ye  Nymphs,  close  by  the  altar  side 
Of  our  Demeter  of  the  threshing-floor  ? 
Ah,  on  the  goddess'  heap  of  golden  grain 
May  I  soon  plant  again  her  winnowing  fan. 
While  holding  bright-red  poppies  in  her  hands. 
And  sheaves  of  wheat,   she    stands  and  smiles  at 


me  ! 


42 


Theocritus. 
IDYL   XI 

Polyphemus  and   Galatea. 

THIS  idyl  is  addressed  to  Nicias,  who  was 
both  a  physician  and  a  poet,  and  also  in 
love.  Theocritus  recommends  him  song  as 
the  only  remedy  possible  for  his  disease,  and  re- 
minds him  that  it  was  by  this  means  the  Cyclops 
cured  himself  of  his  passion  for  Galatea. 

He  then  repeats  the  song  of  the  Cyclops, 
which  is  perfectly   pastoral  in  expression. 

It  is  strange  to  find  the  fierce  one-eyed  monster 
of  the  Odyssey  transformed  into  a  love-sick  shep- 
herd by  the  later  Greeks. 

I    THINK  there  is  no  other  cure  of  love. 
My  Nicias,  no  potion  strong  nor  balm. 
Excepting  song,  that  brings  sweet  ease  to  men. 
Yet  this  is  hard  to  find,  as  thou  must  know 
Who  art  a  wise  physician,  and,  besides. 
Beloved  greatly  by  the  Muses  nine. 

So  was  it  that  the  Cyclops  long  of  old, 
Our  Polyphemus,  passed  the  weary  days. 
When  first  the  soft  young  down  began  to  fringe 
His  cheek  and  chin,  and  he  was  deep  in  love 
With  Galatea.      Then  he  paid  her  court. 
Not  with  red  apples,  nor  a  blushing  rose. 
Nor  yet  with  curling  locks  of  yellow  hair  ; 
But  loved  her  to  distraction,  thinking  naught 
Of  all  things  else  in  the  wide  world  but  her. 

43 


Theocriiui.      Full  oftentimes  his  sheep  came  home  alone, 
Untended,  from  the  distant  pastures  green. 
While  on  the  weed-strewn  beach  he  sang  alone 
Of  Galatea,  and  from  break  of  day 
Pined  with  a  hateful  wound  within  his  heart, 
A  wound  by  mighty  Cypris'  arrows  made. 
Sitting  aloof  upon  a  lofty  clifF, 
And  looking  out  across  the  deep  he  sang  : 

"O  fairest  Galatea  !   tell  me  why 
Thou  castest  me  away,  who  love  thee  so  ? 
Thou  art  more  white  to  see  than  curdled  cream. 
More  tender  than  the  new-born  lamb,  more  gay 
Than  is  the  wanton  calf,  and  brighter  far 
Than  polished  clusters  of  the  ripening  grape. 
Then  only 'when  sweet  sleep  possesses  me 
Thou  comest  hither,  and  when  sweet  sleep  goes 
Thou,  too,  departest,  as  the  silly  sheep 
That  sees  the  gray  wolf  lurking  in  the  brake. 

"  I  fell  in  love  with  thee,  dear  maid,  when  first 
Thou  earnest  with  my  mother  to  this  place 
To  pluck  the  plumes  of  purple  hyacinth 
Upon  the  hill,  and  I  showed  thee  the  way. 
Once  having  seen  thee,  never  afterwards, 
From  that  same  hour,  no,  not  even  now. 
Could  I  one  moment  cease  from  loving  thee. 
And  yet,  by  Zeus,  thou  carest  not  at  all  ! 

<'  I  know,  my  girl,  why  thou  dost  fly  from  me  : 
It  is  because  one  shaggy  eyebrow  spans 

44 


My  forehead,  stretching  out  from  ear  to  ear  ;  Theocriius. 

Because  one  single  eye  alone  is  mine. 

And  my  broad  nose  is  flattened  on  my  face. 

Yet  even  as  thou  seest  me,  I  feed 

A  thousand  ewes  that  yield  the  richest  milk  ; 

My  fresh  cheese  never  fails  in  summer's  heat. 

Nor  in  the  autumn,  nor  in  winter's  storms  ; 

Mv  wicker  baskets  to  the  brim  are  filled. 


"  And  1  am  skilled  in  piping,  as  not  one 

Of  all  the  other  Cyclops  here,  and  oft 

I  sing  of  thee,  sweet-apple  of  my  heart. 

And  of  myself,  till  late  into  the  night. 

I  keep  for  thee  eleven  pretty  fawns. 

Each  with  a  crescent  traced  upon  its  brow. 

And  four  young  cubs  of  mountain-ranging  bears. 


**  Come,  come  to  me,  and  all  I  have  is  thine  : 
Leave  the  gray  sea  to  roll  the  waves  ashore  ; 
More  sweedy  shalt  thou  spend  the  night  with  me 
Within  my  cave  ;   thereby  the  laurels  grow, 
And  slender  cypress  trees,  and  ivy  dim. 
And  vines  that  bear  the  honey-fruited  grape. 
There,  too,  is  water  cool  that  ^tna  sends 
From  high  white  snow,  down  dark  deep-wooded 

slopes. 
To    me,    a    draught    divine.      Ah,     who    would 

choose 
To  live  instead  within  the  weltering  sea  ? 

45 


Theocritus.      "  But  if  I  seem  to  thee  to  be  too  rough 

And  shaggy,  1  have  piles  of  oaken  wood. 
And  underneath  the  ashes  on  the  hearth 
Still  glow  the  coals  of  never-dying  fire  ; 
And  I  could  bear  to  let  thee  burn  my  soui. 
And  this  one  eye,  the  dearest  thing  I  have. 

*'  I  wish  I  had  been  born  with  fishes'  fins. 
For  then  I  should  go  down  to  thee  and  kiss 
Thy  hand  at  least,  if  not  thy  lovely  lips  ; 
And  I  should  bring  thee  lilies  snowy  white. 
Or  poppies  soft  with  scarlet  petals  spread. 
These  grow  in  summer,  those  in  winter  time. 
So  that  I  could  not  bring  them  both  at  once. 

**  Now,  I  will  try  to  learn   to  swim,  if  e'er 
A  stranger  sail  this  way  in  his  fair  ship, 
That  1  may  know  why  it  is  sweet  to  thee 
To  have  thy  dwelling  in  the  dismal  deep. 

"  Come  hither,  Galatea,  and  forget. 

As  I  who  sit  here  have  forgotten  too. 

The  homeward  way  ;  and  choose  with  me  to  lead 

A  shepherd's  life,  to  help  me  milk  the  ewes. 

To  make  the  cheese,  and  pour  the  rennet  in. 

'*  My  mother  wrongs  me  ;  her,  alone,  I  blame  ; 
For  never  has  she  said  a  loving  word 
To  thee  of  me,  in  kindness,  though  she  sees 
Me  growing  thinner,  wasting  day  by  day. 

46 


To  frighten  her,  I'll  say  a  fever  fierce  Theocritus. 

Is  throbbing  in  my  burning  head  and  feet. 
That  she  may  suffer,  as  I  suffer  now. 

"  Ah,  silly  Cyclops,  has  thou  lost  thy  wits  ? 

Go,  weave  thy  wickerwork,  and  break  the  boughs 

To  give  thy  lambs,  and  thou  wilt  be  more  wise. 

Go,  milk  the  ewe  thou  hast,  for  why  pursue 

The  fleeting  thing  that  flies  away  from  thee  .-' 

Anotiier  Galatea  thou  mayst  find 

Again,  perchance,  and  still  more  fair  ;  who  knows  .'' 

For  many  are  the  girls  that  call  to  me 

To  come  with  them  and  pass  the  night  in  play. 

And  they  laugh  lightly  if  I  lend  an  ear. 

So  even  I,  on  land,  am  something  worth." 

Thus  Polyphemus  once  beguiled  his  love 
With  song,  and,  piping,  found  more  sweet  con- 
tent 
Than  had  he  given  gold  for  peace  of  mind. 

IDYL    XV 

GORGO  AND  PraXINOE   AT  THE    FESTIVAL  OF  AdONIS 

GORGO  and  Praxinoeare  Syracusan  women 
of  the  middle  class,  living  in  Alexandria. 
Gorgo  calls  upon  Praxinoe,  and  after 
some  conversation  in  the  manner  of  women  of 
every  age,  Gorgo  invites  Praxinoe  to  go  with  her 
to  the  palace  of  King  Ptolemy  Philadelphus,  to 
see  the    festival  of  the    resurrection    of  Adonis, 

47 


Theocritus,  which  is  being  celebrated  there  with  peculiar  mag- 
nificence by  Arsinoe  the  Queen,  wife  of  Ptolemy. 
Accompanied  by  their  maids  Eunoe  and  Euty- 
chis,  they  make  their  way  through  the  crowded 
streets  with  difficulty,  and  manage  finally  to  enter 
the  palace.  There  they  admire  the  image  of 
Adonis,  lying  on  a  silver  bed,  surrounded  by  tap- 
estries and  precious  offerings  of  all  kinds,  and  listen 
to  the  hymn  sung  in  his  honour  by  a  famous  per- 
former. 


P 


Gorgo. 

LEASE,  is  Praxinoe  at  home  ? 


Praxino'e. 

Oh,  Gorgo  !   have  you  come  ? 
It's  very  long  since  we  have  met  ;  I'm  glad  to  be 

at  home. 
I  wonder  you  are  here  at  last.      Quick,    Eunoe, 

this  way. 
Go  get  a  chair  and  cushion. 


Gorgo. 

Praxinoe. 
Gorgo,  pray. 


Thanks. 

Sit  down,  dear 
48 


Gorgo.  Theocritus. 

I  scarcely  lived  to  get  to  you,  I  was  a  fool  to  try. 
Praxinoe,  there's  such  a  crowd  of  wagons  driving 

by; 
Men  in  high  boots  and  uniforms  are  tramping  up 

and  down  ; 
The  road  was  endless.     Oh,  my  dear  !  you  live  too 

far  from  town. 

Praxinoe. 

My  crazy  husband  took  this  hole,  here  where  cre- 
ation ends,  — 

It's  not  a  house,  — just  to  prevent  our  ever  being 
friends. 

He's  always  the  same  jealous  brute  ;  I  know  'twas 
out  of  spite. 

Gorgo. 

Don't  speak   like  that  before  your  bov,  it   really 

isn't  right. 
Just    watch   the   child,    his   eyes  are  sharp  ;   he's 

staring  at  you  yet. 
Zopyrion,  it's  not  papa  she  means,  my  pretty  pet. 

Praxinoe. 
Good   heavens  !    the    child    does  understand  ;    he 
takes  in   all   we   say. 

Gorgo. 
Dear,  nice  papa  ! 

49 


Theocritus.  Praxinoi. 

That  nice  papa  of  his  the  other  day 
Went  to  the  shop  for  soap  and  rouge  I  wanted 

him  to  bring. 
But  came  back  home  with  salt  instead,  the  great 
big  stupid  thing. 

Gorgo. 
My  husband  is  a  spendthrift  too,  for  yesterday  he 

paid 
Almost   two  silver  dollars  for  a  purchase  that  he 

made. 
Instead  of  getting  fleeces  five  of  lambs'  wool  as  he 

thought. 
The  skins  of  dogs  and  dirty  trash  was  all  the  stuff" 

he  bought. 
More  work    for  me,    of  course.      But    get  your 

cloak  and   shawl    to   wear  ; 
We'll  go  to  the  King's  palace  now,  to  see  Adonis 

there. 
I  hear  the  Queen  has  made  it  all  a  very  splendid 

show. 

Praxinoi. 
The  great  can  do  all  things  in  style. 

Gorgo. 

Moreover,  if  you  go. 
You   can    describe   what  you  have  seen   to  those 

who  stay  away. 
It's  time  to  start. 

50 


Praxinoe.  Theocritus. 

To  idle  folk  it's  always  holiday. 
Here,    Eunoe,  pick  up  my  work,  and  put  it  out 

of  sight. 
You  lazy  girl;  it's  just  the  bed  in  which  the  cats 

delight. 
Come,  bring   the  water  here   at  once  ;   the   water 

first,  make  haste  ; 
She  brings  the  soap  ;  —  well,  hand  it  here;  oh, 

not  so  much,   don't  waste  ! 
Now,   pour   the    water.        Oh,    you  goose  !  my 

gown   you're  wetting  fast  : 
Stop,    stop  ;     as    it  has    pleased    the  gods,   I've 

washed  my  hands  at  last. 
Where  is  the  key  to  the  great  chest  ?      Go  quick 

and  bring  it  here. 


Gorgo. 

Praxinoe,    that  pleated  cloak   is  most    becoming, 

dear. 
I  like  the  stuff";   tell  me  how  much  it  cost  to  have 

it  made  ? 


Praxinoe. 

Don't    speak    of  it  !      Eight    dollars    down    and 

more  than   that   I    paid. 
And  then   the  work  !      I    slaved   and   slaved   till   I 

was  almost  dead. 

5» 


Theocritus.  Gorgo. 

I  think  it  is  a  great  success. 

Praxino'e. 

Thank  you  for  what  you've  said. 
Come,  bring  me  here  my  shawl   at  once,  and  set 

my  hat  on  right. 
No,   child,    you    cannot    come.      Bugbears  !      A 

horse  outside  will  bite  ! 
Oh  !   Cry  as  much  as  you  may  choose  ;   I  cannot 

have  you  lame. 
Now,  let  us  start.       Here,    Phrygia,   amuse  him 

with  a  game  ; 
Call  in    the   dog,    and  don't  forget  to  lock  the 

street-door,  too. 

(  They  go  out  into  the  street. ) 

Gods  !  What  a  fearful  crowd  there  is  !  How  are 
we  to  get  through  ? 

How  many  people  there  are  here  —  like  count- 
less ants  they  swarm  ! 

How  much  King  Ptolemy  has  done  to  save  us 
all  from  harm. 

Since  his  dead  father  joined  the  gods  ;  for  now 
no  one  need  feel 

Afraid  of  wicked  pickpockets  that  sneak  about 
and   steal 

In  the  old  true  Egyptian  style.  What  tricks  they 
used  to  play  ! 

52 


So   mischievous,    and    all    alike  !      All   scamps    in    Theocritus. 

every  way. 
O  Gorgo  !  see  !     What  shall  we  do  ?  The  horses 

of  the  Crown 
Are  pressing  on  us.      My  dear  man  !  try    not  to 

tread   me  down. 
The  bay  has  reared  up  in  the  air.      Oh,  what  a 

vicious  horse  ! 
Look  out,    you  foolish   Eunoe.      He'll    kill    the 

man,  of  course. 
How  glad  I  am  that  I  refused  to  bring  the  child 

along! 

Gorgo. 
Courage,    Praxinoe ;    they've  gone    ahead   where 
they  belong. 

Praxinoe. 

Now  they  have  passed,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  can 

breathe  again. 
Horses  and   snakes  all  through  my  life  have  been 

my  greatest  bane. 
But  let  us  hasten  on   before  the  dreadful   mob  is 

here. 

Gorgo  ( to  an  old  woman  in  the  crowd  ) . 

Oh,  mother!    Have  vou  been  to  court.'' 

Old  Woman. 

1  come  from  there,  my  dear. 

53 


Theocritus.  Gorgo. 

Can  we  get  in  ? 


Old  Woman. 

It  was,  they  say,  by  trying  hard  alone 
The   Greeks  got  into  Troy.      All   things  by  try- 
ing can  be  done. 

Gorgo. 

She's  spoken  like  an  oracle,   and   now  has  gone 
away. 

Praxinoe. 

There's  nothing    women    do    not    know  —  ev'n 
Hera's  wedding  day. 

Gorgo. 

Praxinoe,  see,  at  the  doors  great  crowds  of  people 
stand  ! 

Praxinoe. 

Tremendous  ;  —  Gorgo,   wait  until    you  let  me 

have  your  hand. 
Hold    Eunoe  to    Eutychis,   lest    you    get  out  of 

sight  ; 
There,  now  we're  going  all  at  once.      O  Eunoe  ! 

hold  tight  ! 
Oh,    dear  !     Oh,   dear  !    How  sad   I  am  !      My 

scarf  is  torn  in   two. 

54 


{To  a  stranger. )  Theocritus. 

For  Heaven's  sake,  sir,  if  you  wish  good  luck  to 

come  to  you. 
Help  me  to  save  my  shawl,  oh,  please  !  you  kind, 

obliging  man  ! 

1st  Stranger. 

I  fear  it's  not  within  my  power,  but  I'll   do  all  I 
can. 


Praxinoe. 
Oh,  what  an  awful  crowd  it  is  !      Like  pigs  the 
people  push  ! 

1st  Stranger. 

Lady,   you  need  not  be  afraid,  we've  passed    the 
greatest  rush. 


Praxinoe. 

May  Heaven  bless  you  all  your  life,  my  dear  kind 

sir,  for  this. 
Oh,     what     a     nice,    obliging    man     that     civil 

stranger  is  ! 
Poor   Eunoe  is  squeezed — press,  fool!      There, 

now   we're  all   inside, 
As  once  the  bridegroom  said,  when  he  was  locked 

in  with  the  bride. 

55 


Theocritus.  Gorgo. 


Praxinoe,  come  this  way  first.     How  delicate  and 

fair 
Are   those  embroideries  !      They  look   fit    for  the 

gods  to  wear. 


Praxinoe. 

Athene  Lady,  what  skilled  hands  have  wrought 
the  work  so  fine  ! 

What  clever  painters,  those  that  drew  that  marvel- 
lous design  ! 

The  figures  seem  to  move  about ;  we  might  almost 
believe 

That  they  are  real.  How  great  man  is  !  What 
cannot  he  achiev^e  ? 

Adonis,  too,  is  lying  there  upon  his  silver  bed  ; 

With  the  soft  down  of  early  youth  his  cheeks  are 
overspread  ; 

Adonis,  he  the  thrice-belov'd,  still  loved  in  Ach- 
eron. 


2d  Stranger. 

You  foolish  magpies,  can't  you  stop?  For  if  you 
chatter  on 

In  that  broad  accent,  I  shall  die  ;  it  is  too  tire- 
some. 

56 


Gorgo.  Theocritus. 

I  must  say  1  should  like  to  know  what  place  that 

man  is  from  ! 
And  if  we  choose  to  talk,  pray,  sir,  why  should 

you  make  a  fuss  ? 
Command  your  servants,  if  you  please,  you  can't 

rule  over  us. 
We  are  from  Corinth    by  descent,   if  you    must 

know   that   too. 
As  was  Bellerophon,  and  speak  as   Peloponnesians 

do. 
Can  Dorians  speak  Doric,  then,  without  reproach, 

or  not  ? 

Praxinoe. 
O  honey-sweet  Persephone,  beside  the  lord  we've 

got, 
Give   us   no   other  master,    please;    I   don't   care 

what  you  say. 
You   need  not  offer  your  advice  in   this  officious 

way . 

Gorgo. 

Be  quiet  now,  Praxinoe,  don't  talk  ;  I  want  to 
hear 

The  girl  who's  going  to  sing  the  hymn  :  she  won 
the  prize  last  year. 

She's  very  clever,  and  I  know  she'll  give  us  some- 
thing rare  ; 

She  is  already  putting  on  her  most  coquettish   air. 

57 


Theotritus.  The   Hymn   for   Adonis. 

O  Lady  Aphrodite,  thou  who  dost  with  joy  behold 
IdaHum  and   Eryx'    steep,  and  playest  still   with 

gold  ; 
Lo  !   the  soft-footed   Hours  bring  Adonis  back  to 

thee. 
In  twelve  months  back  from  Acheron  that  flows 

eternally. 
Slower  than  all  immortals  else,  the  blessed   Hours 

move. 
Longed  for  by   men,   for  when   they  come  they 

bring  a  gift  of  love. 

Since    thou    didst  change  Berenice  who  was  of 

mortal  birth 
To  an  immortal,  as  they   say,  O   Cypris  !   upon 

earth. 
By    dropping     thine     ambrosia     sweet     into    her 

woman's  breast. 
Therefore,    O    thou  of   many  names  and    many 

shrines  possessed  ! 
For  thy  delight,  Berenice's  dear  child  Arsinoe 
Hath  decked  thine  own  Adonis  out,  in  gratitude 

to  thee. 

Before  him  lie  all  kinds  of  fruit  the  laden  branches 
bear. 

All  forest-nuts  and  tender  plants  in  gardens  grown 
are  there. 

In  silver  baskets  gathered  up  ;    and   boxes  gold- 
inlaid, 

58 


With   richest   Syrian   perfumes  filled,  of  alabaster  Theocritus. 

made. 
All  cakes  that  on  their  kneading-trays   the  women 

knead  with  care. 
Mingling  the  fragrant  blossoms  in  with  flour  white 

and  fair  ; 
Cakes  that  are  made  of  honey  sweet  and  of  fresh 

olive  oil. 
Shaped   like  the   things  that  fly  above  and   creep 

upon  the  soil. 

And  there  are  bowers  built  for  him,  bent  down 

with  anise  soft  ; 
Boy  Loves  among  the  wealth  of  green  are  flutter- 
ing aloft  ; 
Like  tender  little  nightingales  that  in  the  branches 

sing. 
They   hop  about   from   twig   to   twig   to  try  their 

strength   of  wing. 
O  precious  gold   and  ebony  !   and,    wonderful  to 

see. 
Twin   eagles   bearing    Ganymede,    carved   out   of 

ivory. 
The    purple    coverlets    are  spread — "softer  by 

far   than   sleep" 
(Or    so   the    trader  says   that  sells   the   wool   of 

Samian  sheep  J. 
For   beautiful    Adonis,    lo  !     a    second    couch    is 

strown  : 
For  rosy-armed  Adonis  one,  and  one  for  Cypris* 

own. 

59 


Theocritus.      He  is  a  bridegroom  of  eighteen   or   only   nineteen 
years  ; 
His   kisses   prick  not  ;    on    his    lip   the   Hrst  down 
scarce  appears. 

We  leave  thee  with  him,  Cypris,  now,  and  all 
bid  thee  good-night. 

To-morrow  we  shall  come  again  when  dawns  the 
eastern  light. 

To  carry  him  through  morning  dews  down  to  the 
wild  seashore. 

Where  on  the  strand  the  plashing  waves  are  roll- 
ing evermore. 

There,  with  our  garments  all  ungirt,  our  bosoms 
white  and  bare. 

And  tresses  loosened  in  the  wind,  we'll  sing  our 
shrill   sweet  air. 

"  Belov'd  Adonis,  thou  alone  of  all  heroic  men 
Art  free  to  go  to  Acheron  and  here  return  again. 
Not  ev'n   Agamemnon   could  ascend  the  upward 

track. 
And  Ajax,    mighty   in   his   wrath,  has   never    yet 

come  back. 
Hector  himself,  of  Hecuba  the  first-born,  has  not 

come  ; 
Patrocles    nor    young    Pyrrhus    who   went   home 

from  Ilium. 
No,    not   the   early    Lapithae,    nor    Pelops'    race 

divine. 
Nor  sons  of  old  Deucalion  and  Argos'  ancient  line. 

60 


Be  gracious,  loved  Adonis,  now,  to  us  while  thou  Tkeocrittts. 

art  here. 
And  let  thy  favour  follow  us  through  all  the  future 

year. 
Dear  art  thou,  O  Adonis  !   now,  and  dear  another 

time." 

Gorgo. 
Praxinoe,  I  must  confess  that  woman  is  sublime. 
How  lucky  that  she  knows  so  much  and  that  her 

voice  is  fine  ! 
But  I  must  hasten   home  again,   my  husband  has 

to  dine ; 
You    can't    go    near    him    when    he    fasts  —  his 

temper  is  so  bad. 
Farewell,   Adonis    best-belov'd,    come   back   and 

make  us  glad. 


6i 


BION 

THE    LAMENT    FOR    ADONIS 

THIS    lament    was   probably    written    to    be 
sung  at  the  yearly  festival  held  in  honour  of 
Adonis,    the  fair    youth  who  was  beloved 
by  Aphrodite,  and  gored  to  death   by  the  tusk  of 
a  wild  boar  which  he  was  pursuing  in  the  chase. 
A  similar  festival  is  described  in   the  fifteenth 
idyl  of  Theocritus. 


w 


OE  for  Adonis  ;  he  is  gone  forever  ! 

Dead  is  Adonis  ;  all  the  Loves  lament  him. 


Sleep  no  more,  Cypris,  in  thy  purple  raiment  : 
Arise,  thou  wretched  one,  all  sable-stolfed  ; 
Go  beat  thy  breast,  and  call  aloud  to  all  men 
That  he  is  dead,  thy  beautiful  Adonis. 

Woe  for  Adonis  ;  all  the  Loves  lament  him. 

Low  on  the  hills  the  lost  Adonis  lieth  ; 

The    wild   boar's    tusk   his   thigh   hath    torn   and 

wounded  ; 
He  breathes  away  his  soul  to  Cypris'  sorrow. 
The  black  blood  down  his  snowy  side  is  flowing  ; 
Beneath  his  brows  his  eyes  are  fixed  in  darkness  ; 
The  rose  hath  fled  his  lips,  where  also  dieth 
The  kiss  that  Cypris  now  no  more  may  gather. 
Alas  !  though  he  is  dead,  she  loves  his  kisses. 
And  yet  he  knew  not  that  she  kissed  him  dying. 

62 


Woe  for  Adonis  ;  all  the  Loves  lament  him.  The  Lament 

for  Adonis. 

A  cruel,  cruel  wound  hath  slain  Adonis, 

But  worse  the  wound  in  Cytherea's  bosom. 

His  hunting  hounds  are  baying  all  around  him. 

And  him  the  mountain  Nymphs  are  loudly  wailing. 

But  Aphrodite,  with  her  tresses  loosened. 

Wandering  along  the  spaces  of  the  forest. 

Goes  all  ungirt,  and  with  her  feet  unsandalled  ; 

The  thorny  brambles  tear  her  as  she  passes. 

And  drink  her  blood  divine,  as  through  the  wood- 
lands 

She  weeps  and  calls  for  her  Assyrian  lover. 

And  all  the  while  his  life-blood,  ever  springing. 

Hath  darkly  stained  his  arms  and  breast  with 
purple  — 

Adonis'  breast  that  once  than  snow  was  whiter. 

Woe,  woe,  the  Loves  lament  for  Cytherea. 

Her  lord  is  lost,  and  lost  her  sacred  beauty  ; 
For  Cypris'  beauty  lived  while  lived  Adonis, 
But  when  Adonis  died,  her  beauty  withered. 
The  mountains  mourn,  and  cry,  alas  !  for  Cypris  ; 
Woe  for  Adonis  all  the  oak-trees  murmur  ; 
The  rivers  wail  the  woes  of  Aphrodite  ; 
The  wells  upon  the  hillside  weep  Adonis  ; 
The  very  flowers   flush  rose-red  with  anguish  ; 
While  Cythcrea,  through  the  wooded  uplands. 
Sings  the  sad  dirge  for  beautiful  Adonis, 
And  echo  answers  :    "  He  is  dead,  Adonis." 

63 


The  Lament    Who  would  not  weep  the  zvoeful  love  of  Cspris  ? 
fur  Adonis. 

When  first  she  saw  Adonis'  wound  unstanched. 
Saw  the  bright  blood  upon  his  side  so  languid. 
She  wrung  her   hands  and   moaned  :    "Oh,  sta\ , 

Adonis  ! 
Ill-starred  Adonis,  stay  until  my  coming  ; 
Till  in  my  arms  one  last  time  I  infold  thee. 
And  one  last  time  my  lips  with  thy  lips  mingle. 
Awake,  and  give  me  thy  last  kiss,  Adonis  ; 
Oh,    kiss  me  for  the  time  a  kiss  endureth  ! 
Until  into  my  lips  and  heart  thou  breathest 
Thy  last  life-breath,  and  I  have  drained  the  philter 
Of  thy  sweet  love,  and  drunk  it  down  forever. 
And  this  thy  kiss,  Adonis,  I  shall  treasure 
Ev'n  as  thyself,  since  thou  art  flying  from  me. 
Flying  as  far  as  Acheron,  Adonis, 
To  that  fierce  cruel  king,  while  I,  a  goddess. 
Must  still  live  on  forlorn  and  cannot  follow. 
Take,  take,  Persephon^,  my  lord  beloved. 
For  thou  art  stronger,  mightier  than  I  am. 
And  all    fair   things    are  always    flowing    toward 

thee. 
Ill-fated  and  insatiate  of  sorrow, 
I  weep  Adonis  dead  to  me,  despairing. 
Thou  diest,  diest,  O  thou  thrice  desired  ! 
And  my  desire  as  a  dream  is  fleeting. 
Oh,  widowed  is  unhappy  Cytherea  ! 
The  Loves  are  idle  in  the  palace-chambers  ; 
With  thee  the  girdle  of  my  beauty  withered. 
Being  so  fair,  why  wast  thou  over-daring  ? 

64 


Why   didst  thou   go   to   fight    with   savage   creat-  The  Lament 
y^gg  _?  "  for  Adonis. 

Thus  Cypris  mourned  ;  with  her  the  Loves 
lamented. 

Woe,   Cstherea,  dead  is  thine  Adonis  I 

As  many  tears  the  Paphian  is  shedding 
As  are  the  drops  of  blood  Adonis  poureth  ; 
Upon  the  ground  they  turn  to  buds  and  blossoms  ; 
His   blood    brings    forth    the  rose,   her   tears    the 
wind-flow' r. 

Woe  for  Adonis  ;  he  is  gone  forever  ! 

No  longer  in  the  deep  dark  forest,  Cypris, 

Lament  thy  lord  ;   no  longer  leave  him  lying 

Upon  his  lonely  bed  of  scattered  oak-leaves. 

But  now  that  he  is  dead,  lay  thine  Adonis 

On  thine  own  couch  to  rest,  O  Cytherea  ! 

Ev'n  in  his  death  how  very  fair  he  seemeth  ! 

Though  dead,  he  looks  as  if  he  were  but  sleeping. 

In  softest  coverlets  of  thine  infold  him. 

Wherein  he  shared  with  thee  the  sacred  slumber, 

On  thy  gold  bed  that  calls  for  sad  Adonis. 

Strew  him  with  garlands  and  with  wreaths  of 
flowers. 

And  sprinkle  him  with  myrrh  and  Syrian  spike- 
nard. 

Oh,  let  all  perfumes  pass  away  and  perish, 

Since  he  has  died,  who  was  thy  precious  perfume  ! 


The  Lament    Ifoe  for  Adonis;  all  the  Loves  lament  him. 
for  Adonis. 

The  delicate  Adonis  lies  in  purple  : 
About  him  weep  the  little  Loves  deploring. 
And  clip  their  curling  locks  for  dead  Adonis. 
One  treads  upon  his  bow,  another  tramples 
His  arrows  down,  and  one  destroys  his  quiver. 
Another  yet  hath  loosened  both  his  sandals. 
And  some  of  them  bring  vessels  filled  with  water  : 
One  laves  his  wounded  side,  and  one  behind  him 
With  feathered  wings  is  fanning  fair  Adonis. 

Woe  for  Adonis  ;   all  the  Loves  lament  him. 

Hymen     hath     quenched     the    lamps    along    the 

lintels. 
And  scattered  far  abroad  the  marriage  garland  ; 
He  sings  no  more  his  music  hymenaeal. 
But  wails  another  song  for  his  Adonis. 
Grieving  for  Cinyras'  fair  son,  the  Graces 
To  one  another  say  :    "  Adonis  perished." 
The  Muses,  too,  forget  their  joyful  paeans. 
And  shrilly  cry  instead  :  "Alas,  Adonis!  " 
They   chant  him  songs,  but  he  may  never  hear 

them  : 
It  is  not  that  he  would  be  loath  to  listen. 
But  that   Persephone  will  not  release  him. 

Cease,  Cytherea,  cease  thy  dismal  dirges  ; 
To-day  no  longer  sing  thy  lamentations  : 
Another  year  thou  shalt  again  bewail  him, 

66 


MELEAGER 
I 

O  NIGHT  !     O    ever-wakeful    hopes    and 
fears  ! 
And,  in   the  cold   gray  light  of  doubtful 
dawn. 
Eyes  that  do  sting  and  burn  with  briny  tears  ! 
Is  my  fair  love's  affection  from  me  gone  ? 
Or  doth  she  still  in  her  remembrance  hold. 
And  with  her  kisses  warm  my  picture  cold  ? 

Do  tears  abide  with  her,  and  scare  her  rest  ? 

And  doth  she  see  me  in  a  dream  by  night. 

Clasping  a  vision  vainly  to  her  breast  ? 

Or  hath  she  a  new  love,  a  new  delight  ? 

Look  not  on  this,  O  Lamp  !  but  keep  good  ward 

Of  her  I  gave  to  thee  to  watch  and  guard. 


n 

THE  cup  rejoiceth  in  its  pride. 
And  gladly  doth  attest 
That  to  my  girl's  melodious  mouth 
It  hath  been  often  pressed. 

But  would  that  she  might  lay  her  lips 

On  mine,  O  happy  cup  ! 
And  drawing  forth  my  inmost  soul 

At  one  draught  drink  it  up. 

67 


MeUager.  HI 

IHOU  slumberest,  my  pretty  flower  ; 
Had  it  been  mine  to  creep 
Upon  thine  eyelids  at  this  hour, 
A  wingless  sleep. 


T 


Not  he  that  charms  Zeus'  eyes  above 
To  thee  had  e'er  come  nigh  ; 

But  I  had  held  thee  fast,  my  love. 
And  none  but  I. 


IV 

WHEN  Clearista  loosed  the  virgin  knot 
That  bound  the  girdle  of  her  maidenhood. 
The  bridegroom  she  had  looked  for  she  forgot. 
For  Death  instead  of  Love  to  greet  her  stood. 

The  flutes  that  echoed  at  the  bridal  door. 

At  day's  decline,  were  scarce  in  silence  hushed. 

And  but  a  little  space  of  time  before. 

The  folding  portals  were  together  pushed  ; 

When  loud  the  cry  of  lamentation  strong 
Was  heard  at  coming  of  the  morning  pale ; 
Mute  were  the  strains  of  Hvmenseus'  song. 
The  joyful  music  turned  into  a  wail  : 

And  those  same  torches  flaring  by  her  bed 
Lighted  her  downward  path  among  the  dead. 

68 


Y  Meleager. 

BY  the  braided  tresses  fair 
Of  my  Demo's  golden  hair  ; 
By  the  softly  sandalled  feet 
Of  my  Heliodora  sweet  ; 
By  Timarion's  scented  door 
Dropping  perfumes  evermore  ; 
By  the  smile  that  I  surprise 
In  my  Anticleia's  eyes  ; 
By  the  garlands  of  fresh  flowers 
Filling  Dorothea's  bovvers  ; 
Love,  thy  quiver  hides  no  more 
Bitter  arrows,  as  before  ; 
Thou  mayst  see  each  feathered  dart 
Deep  infixed  in  my  heart. 

VI 

FAREWELL,  star  of  the  morning, 
Phosphor,  herald  of  dawning  ; 

Come  back  as  Hesper  bright. 
Star  of  the  early  night, 

Bringing  in  secret  to  me 

Her  whom  thou  takest  with  thee. 

VII 

OHOLY   night  !   and    thou,  O   lamp!    trmimcd 
low, 
—  For  we  took  none  but  you 

69 


MeUager.        As  witnesses  of  our  most  solemn  vow 
When  she  sware  to  be  true  ; 
And  I,  in  turn,  sware  I  should  always  stay 
With  her,  close  by  her  side,  — 
Ye  heard  the  words  we  spake,  but  now,  to-day. 
She  says  that  written  wide 
Upon  the  waters  float  her  oaths  unblest  ; 
And  thou,  O  lamp  !   dost  shine. 
Seeing  her  lie  upon  another's  breast. 
And  not,  alas  !   on  mine. 


VIJI 

THE  wan  white  violet  unfolds  again. 
And  the  narcissus,  lover  of  the  rain  ; 
The  lilies  on  the  hills  are  blowing  fast ; 

And  now,  with  all  the  flowers  of  the  spring. 
Another  flower,  too,  is  blossoming  ; 
Persuasion's  sweet,  sweet  rose  hath  bloomed  at  last. 

Then  why,  ye  meadows,  why  with  vain  delight. 
Why  should  ye  laugh  to  see  yourselves  so  bright  ? 
My  rose,  my  girl,  your  garlands  hath  surpassed. 


IX 

I  SAW  her  at  the  hour  of  noon 
Come  through  the  fields  of  corn. 
Just  when  the  tresses  of  the  grain 
Were  by  the  reapers  shorn  ; 

70 


And  suddenly  two  blinding  rays  MeUager, 

Bewildered  me  with  double  blaze  : 
One  from  the  midday  sun  above. 
And  from  her  eyes  the  light  of  love. 

The  shadows  of  the  evening  quench 

The  sun's  resplendent  beams. 
But  her's  a  vision  of  the  night 

Rekindles  in  my  dreams. 
Sleep,  that  to  others  brings  release. 
Allows  me  neither  rest  nor  peace. 
Shaping  an  image  of  desire 
That  burns  into  mv  soul  with  fire. 


X 

OH,    ye  bitter  waves  of  Love, 
Restless  blasts  of  jealousy. 
Wintry  seas  of  revelling, 
Whither  are  ve  bearing  me  ? 

All  the  rudders  of  my  heart 
Are  unloosened  from  the  helm  : 
Is  insidious  Scylla  doomed 
Me  again  to  overwhelm  ? 

XI 

SOUL,  my  soul,  thou  poor  little  dear. 
Did  I  not  warn  thee  many  a  time 
Never  to  flutter  again  so  near, 

Near  to  the  twigs  that  are  spread  with  the  lime  ? 

7' 


Mdea^er.        Did  I  not  tell  thee  to  take  more  care  ? 

But  now,  little  bird,  thou  art  caught  in  the  snare. 

Why  dost  thou  gasp  in  the  toils  in  vain  ? 

For  lo  !   it  is  Love  who  has  bound  thy  wings  ; 
He   will  scorch  thee,  and   then  let  his   perfumes 
rain. 

Till  thou  swoon  with  the  scent  of  his  offerings. 
With  thine  own  hot  tears  he  has  filled  his  cup, 
And,  now,  little  soul,  thou  must  drink  them  up. 


XII 

Go   to   her,    Dorcas,    from   me  ;    now   go   and 
take  her  my   message, 
Lo  !   take  it  twice  and  again  ;   Dorcas,  run  quick, 

tell  her  all. 
Tarry  no  longer,  but  fly  ;  yet,  Dorcas,  just  stay 

for  a  moment  ; 
Dorcas,  whither   so   fast  .''      Wait,    please,  until   I 

explain. 
Add  to  the  words   I   hav^e  said  —  yet,  no,  I  will 

not  be  so  foolish  ! 
Say  to   her    nothing,   except  —  yes,    go  on,  and 

say  all. 
Spare  not  to  tell   her  the  whole.      But  why  am   I 

sending  thee,   Dorcas  ? 
See,  I   myself  go  forth,  at  the  same  instant  with 

thee  ! 


72 


XIII  Meleager. 

DEEP  in  my  heart  Love  himself  hath  moulded 
my  Heliodora  ; 
Her    of  the    sweet-sounding    voice,   soul    of  my 
innermost  soul. 

XIV 

POUR,  for  my   Heliodora   as  Cypris   and  fairest 
Persuasion  ; 
Once  for  my  dear  one  again,  pour  as  the  sweet- 
speaking  Grace. 
She  is  the  goddess   I   worship,  whose  name,  for- 
ever beloved, 
I  will  mingle  and  drink,  always  in  unmixed  wine. 


XV 

WEAVING  my  wreath,  I  will  twine  white 
violets  mingled  with  myrde, 

Tender  narcissus  in  bloom,  lilies  that  laugh  on 
their  stems  ; 

Blending  the  fragrant  crocus  with  buds  of  hya- 
cinth blossom. 

Purple  and  dark,  I  will  twine  roses,  the  lover's 
delight  ; 

So  that  my  garland  shall  bind  the  fair  brows  of 
my  Heliodora, 

Shedding  its  petals  and  leaves  over  her  sweet- 
smelling  hair. 


73 


MeUagtr.  XVI 

H,   pour  !  and  "  Heliodora  "say. 
Again,  again  the  same  ; 
And  mingle  with  the  unmixed  wine 
The  sweetness  of  her  name. 


o 


Bring  out  the  wreath  of  yesterday 

That  drips  with  scent  and  myrrh  ; 

And  bind  it  quick  about  my  brow 
In  memory  of  her. 

Lo  !   see  the  rose,  the  tender  flower 
That  lovers  love  the  best. 

Sheds  tears  because  she  is  not  here 
Clasped  close  upon  my  breast. 

XVII 

TEARS  of  affection  for  the  dead 
I  give  thee  in  thine  earthy  bed. 
Tears  that  how  bitterly  are  shed. 
My  Heliodora  ! 

Libation  on  thy  grave  I  pour 
Of  my  wild  longing  evermore. 
Memorial  of  the  love  I  bore. 
My  Heliodora. 

Though  thou  among  the  dead  art  gone. 
Still  Meleager  weepeth  on, — 
An  empty  gift  to  Acheron,— 
My  Heliodora. 

74 


Ah,    where  is  my  fair  flower  flown  ?  Meteager. 

Hades  hath  plucked  her  for  his  own  ; 
Dust  mars  the  blossom  freshly  blown. 
My  Heliodora. 

But  thou  who  all  things  nourishest, 
O  mother  Earth  !   hear  my  request. 
And  clasp  her  gently  to  thy  breast. 
My  Heliodora. 


XVIII 

GRASSHOPPER,  bringer  of  sleep,  and  killer  of 
longing   forlorn. 

Shrill-winged  Muse  of  the  field,  who  singest  away 
in  the  corn  ; 

Grasshopper,  strike  up  the  chords  of  thy  little  coun- 
terfeit lyre. 

Smiting  thy  wings  with  thy  feet,  and  play  me  a 
tune  of  desire. 

Grasshopper,  make  me  forget  the  pain  of  my  sleep- 
less ills. 

Letting  thy  love-soothing  voice  re-echo  in  tremu- 
lous trills  ; 

Gifts  I  will  give  thee  to-morrow,  when  morning 
Cometh  again. 

Fair  green  leaves  fresh  sprayed  with  showers  of 
dewy  rain. 


75 


S' 


Meleager.  XIX 

I  HRiLL— VOICED  grasshoppcr,  drunk  with  drops  ot 
the  morning  dew. 

Singing  thy  rustic  song  in  the  greenwood  hidden 
from  view  ; 

Perched  on  the  edge  of  a  leaf,  thou  tunest  thy 
lyre-strings 

With  thy   tiny   jagged    legs  and    thy    swart   and 
sunburnt  wings. 

Chirp    a    new    air,    little    friend,    to    cheer     the 
Nymphs  of  the  trees. 

Making  thy  music  echo  to  Pan's  sweet  melodies  ; 

So  that,  escaping  from  Love,  I  may  sink  into  noon- 
tide sleep 

Here,   at  this  plane-tree's  foot,   as  I  lie    in    the 
shadow  deep. 


76 


ARISTODICUS 

THE  morning  sun  shall  not  find  thee  again 
In  noble  Aids'  hall, 
O  thou  shrill  grasshopper  !  thy  plaintive  strain 
Singing  aloud  to  all : 

For  thou  hast  flown  down  to  the  underworld. 

And  now  perchance  mayst  see 

The    flowery    meadows    with     fresh     dew-drops 

pearled. 
Of  gold  Persephone. 


77 


AUTHOR    UNKNOWN 

WHY,  cruel  shepherds,  do  ye  tear. 
Thus  rudely  from  the  dewy  spray. 
Me,  a  poor  cricket  chirping  there 
So  shrilly  at  the  hot  midday. 
In  lonely  hill  and  leafy  dale 
The  Nymphs'  road-haunting  nightingale  ? 

The  blackbird  and  the  thrush  are  here  ; 

See,  too,  in  flocks  the  starlings  fly ! 

These  are  the  freebooters  ye  fear  ; 

'Tis  meet  such  ravagers  should  die. 

Kill  them,  they  steal  your  fruits  from  you  : 

Why  grudge  to  me  my  leaves  and  dew  ? 


78 


EVENUS 

O  SWALLOW  !      Attic  maid,  with  honey 
Canst   thou,    who  art    a  singer  sweet  ot 
tongue. 
Bear  off  a  singing  grasshopper  for  bread 
To  bring  the  brood  of  thine  unfledged  young  ? 

A  chatterer  thou,  a  chatterer  molest, 
A  winged  thing  break  with  a  winged  brother, 
A  summer's  guest  destroy  a  summer's  guest. 
One  litde  stranger  strive  against  the  other  ? 

Wilt  not  thou  drop  it  now  and  let  it  go  ? 
It  is  not  right  nor  just  for  it  to  die  ; 
A  pretty  songster  should  not  perish  so, 
A  fellow-songster's  greed  to  satisfy. 


79 


TYMNES 

SINGING-BIRD  !  who  wast  so  dear 

Unto  the  Graces  three  ; 
Most  like  the  Halcyons  to  hear. 
Now  snatched  away  from  me  : 


O 


Dear  little  warbler,  thou  hast  flown  ; 

Thy  breath  of  sweet  delight. 
And  all   thy  pretty  ways  gone  down 

The  silent  paths  of  night. 


80 


SIMMIAS 

O  HUNTER  partridge  !   thy  cry's  echoing 
sound 
Is  heard  no  more. 
Along  the  shady  forest  feeding-ground. 
Where  oft  before 

Thou  didst  decoy  thy  speckled  comrades  small. 

Luring  them  on  ; 

For  thou  art  gone  the  final  way  of  all 

To  Acheron. 


8r 


c 


ANTIPATER  OF  SIDON 

I 

LOSE  beside  the  threshing  floor, 
Where  thou  long  didst  work  before. 


Here  to  thee,  O  toiler  ant  ! 
Rearing  a  memorial  scant, 

I  will  set  a  little  sod. 
Moulded  from  a  thirsty  clod  ; 

So  that,  although  thou  art  dead. 
The  rich  furrow  overhead. 

Which  Demeter  doth  adorn 
With  her  ears  of  ripening  corn. 

Lull  thee  with  a  charmed  spell. 
Lying  in  thy  rustic  cell. 

II 

THE  golden  chamber  waited 
For  the  bride  to  enter  in. 
And  with  the  fragrant  saffron 
Was  strewn  the  bed  within. 

Her  guardians  hoped  to  kindle 
The  torches'  flaring  light. 
Holding  them  high  above  her 
In  both  hands  stretched  upright ; 
82 


When  first  a  cruel  sickness  Antipater 

Snatched  her  away  instead,  "/  •^''^'"'• 

And  to  the  Sea  of  Lethe 
While  yet  a  maiden  led. 

Her  comrades  at  the  portal 
Knocked  not  to  rouse  her  rest. 
But  beat  the  diapason 
Of  Death  upon  their  breast. 


83 


AUTHOR  UNKNOWN 

CHILL  green  early  pastures,  and  ye  young 
Naiads  that  stray. 
Tell    the    bees    when    they    come    in    the 
Spring  on  their  flowery  way. 
Old   Leucippus   perished,    in   setting   his    cunning 

snares. 
Late  on  a  winter's  night,  for  the  little  light-footed 

hares  ; 
Now   he   cares    no   more    for    his   hives,    but    the 

valleys  weep 
Him   who    dwelt  so    long     by   the    neighbouring 
mountain  steep. 


84 


DIOTIMUS 

THE  oxen  came  unherded  home  at  even. 
Back  from  the  hills,  with  thick  snow  covered 
deep  ; 
Therimachus,  struck  down  by  fire  from  heaven. 
Beneath  an  oak,  sleeps  out  the  last  long  sleep. 


SATYRUS 

HERE  along  this  sylvan  glade. 
Lovely  Echo,  tongueless  maid. 
Sings  a  sweet  repeating  strain. 
Answering  the  birds  again. 


86 


ANYTE 

I      HERMES,   in  this  windy  orchard  close 
Stand,  by  the  cross-ways,  near  the  gray  sea- 
5        shore ; 
I  give  to  weary  travellers  repose. 
And  cool  clear  waters  from  my  fountain  pour. 


87 


AUTHOR    UNKNOWN 

THOU  who  on  thy  way  dost  pass. 
Here  upon  green  meadow  grass 
Fling  thy  weary  limbs  and  rest  ; 
While  the  zephyrs  from  the  west. 
Playing  in  the  tall  pine-tree. 
Lull  thee  with  their  melody. 
At  the  same  time  thou  shalt  hear 
Shrill  cicalas  chirping  clear. 
While  the  shepherd  on  the  hills 
Pipes  at  noon  his  pastoral  trills. 
Near  the  spring,  beneath  the  shade 
By  the  leafy  plane-copse  made. 
Thou  shalt  find  in  this  retreat 
Refuge  from  the  burning  heat 
Of  the  fierce  autumnal  star  ; 
And  to-morrow  speeding  far. 
Thou  shalt  climb  and  cross  the  steep. 
Pan  bids  thee  his  counsel  keep. 


88 


ASCLEPIADES 
I 

THOU   hoardes:   still   thy  maidenhood's  hid 
treasure. 
And  yet  what  profit  hast  thou  of  thy  care  ? 
For  down  in  Hades,  girl,  there  is  no  pleasure. 
Nor  wilt  thou  find  a  faithful  lover  there. 

The  joys  of  Cypris  are  among  the  living. 
And  when  to  awful  Acheron  we  go. 
We  shall  have  nothing,  maiden,  of  her  giving. 
But  dust  and  ashes  all  shall  lie  below. 

II 

DRINK  deep  and  wipe  thy  tears  away  : 
Why  shouldst  thou  weep  and  moan  ? 
Harsh  Cypris  hath  not  made  her  prey 
Of  thee  alone. 

Not  for  thee  only  doth  Love  whet 

The  arrows  of  his  bow  : 
Why,  in  the  dust,  while  living  yet, 

Liest  thou  so  low  ? 

Ill 

STAY  where  ye  are  high -hanging  overhead. 
My  garlands  fair. 
Beside  her  doors,  and  hasten  not  to  shed 
Your  petals  there. 
89 


Asclepiades.    Ye  that  are  drenched  with  tears  (for  lovers'  eyes 

Drip  briny  showers). 
When  through  the  opening  portal  ye  surprise 

Her  with  vour  flowers. 
Let  fall  upon  her  head  salt  drops  of  dew. 

As  she  appears. 
So  that,  at  least,  her  hair  of  golden  hue 

May  drink  my  tears. 

IV 

SWEET   to  the  thirsty  the  draught  that   is  cooled 
with   snow  in   the   summer  ; 
Sweet,   at  the  sailor's  return,  flowering  garlands 

of  spring. 
After  the  winter  is  over ;  but  sweetest  of  all  when 

two  lovers. 
Sheltered  under  one  cloak,  both  tell   their  tale   of 
true  love. 

V 

SNOW  and  hail  and  tempest  loud. 
Burst  with  purple  thunder-cloud. 
And  the  darkening  earth  enshroud  ! 

If,  O  Zeus  !  thou  mean  to  slay, 
I  shall  cease  and  die  to-day  ; 
But  if  thou  my  death  delay. 

Though  henceforward  thou  mayst  tease 
Me  with  things  far  worse  than  these, 
I  shall  revel  as  I  please. 

90 


For  a  mightier  god  than  thou  AscUptades. 

Holds  me  in  his  bondage  now ; 
He  to  whom  thou  once  didst  bow. 

When  to  thy  beloved's  bower 
Thou  didst  pierce  the  brazen  tower. 
Entering  in  a  golden  shower. 


91 


SIMONIDES 

DANAE,  in  a  curious  chest. 
Cast  upon  the  seas  to  die. 
When  the  waves  about  her  pressed. 
And  the  wailing  winds  were  high. 
Hard  beset  by  heavy  fears. 
Stained  her  face  with  many  tears. 

Clasping  Perseus  in  her  arms, 

*♦  Ah  !  "  she  said,  "  I  weep,  my  child. 

Whilst  thou,  knowing  no  alarms, 

Liest  lapt  in  slumbers  mild  ; 

Shut  in  brass-nailed  timbers  tight. 

Voyaging  through  dusk  and  night. 

"  Though  the  thunderous  passing  wave 
Break  above  thy  tangled  hair. 
Though  the  winds'  wild  voices  rave. 
Thou  dost  neither  cry  nor  care. 
In  thy  purple  mantle  warm. 
Sleep,  my  darling,  free  from  harm. 

"  Oh  !  if  grief  were  grief  to  thee. 
Thou  wouldst  bend  thy  little  ear. 
Hearing  how  I  prayed  the  sea 
Might  be  calm,  and  thou,  my  dear, 
Mightest  sleep,  while  slept  also 
My  immeasurable  woe. 


92 


"I  implore  thee.  Father  Zeus,  Simonides. 

Change  our  fate  from  foul  to  fair  ; 

Listen,  think  not  to  refuse. 

And  forgive  mv  earnest  prayer. 

Confidently  thus  I  spake. 

Asking  for  the  child's  sweet  sake." 


93 


ALPHEUS 

WE  still  see  Troy  from  her  foundations  fall. 
Still  hear  the  wail  of  sad  Andromache, 
Hear  in  the  battle  Ajax'  lusty  call  ; 
And  underneath  the  crown  of  towers  see 

By  horses  Hector  in  the  dust  dragged  down. 
Through  old  Maeonides'  majestic  verse  ; 
His,  whom  no  single  land  claims  as  her  own. 
But  who  belongs  to  the  wide  universe. 


94 


DIONYSIUS 

OME  with  your  basket  of  roses. 

You  that  are  fair  as  a  rose. 
And  tell  us  what  wares  you  are  selling  ; 
Come,  tell  us,  for  nobody  knows. 


C 


Is  it  yourself,  pretty  maiden, 

Or  a  rose  you  are  seeking  to  sell  ? 

Is  it  your  basket  of  roses. 

Or  a  rose  and  yourself  as  well  ? 


95 


UNKNOWN 

MY   love  is  like  a  sudden  storm 
That  comes  in  early  spring. 
Upon  a  wide  and  treacherous  sea 
Astray  and   wandering. 
For  first  from  your  sweet  eyes  the  tears 

Fall  fast  in  showers  of  rain. 
And  then  in  your  returning  smile 
The  sunlight  breaks  again. 

Like  a  poor  shipwrecked  sailor  flung 

Upon  the  mighty  deep. 
Amid  the  wash  of  whirling  waves 

My  course  1  blindly  keep. 
Show  me  a  sign  of  love  or  hate. 

Whichever  it  may  be. 
To  let  me  know  from  you,  dear  one. 

The  nature  of  this  sea. 


96 


DIOSCORIDES 

HE  sang  to  me  the  fatal  horse. 

And  Troy  was  all  on  fire  ; 
1  kindled  with  the  light  perforce 
And  burned  with  flames  as  dire. 


S 


The  ten  years'  toil  of  vengeful  men 
No  more  did  me  amaze  ; 

And  Troy  and  I  together  then 
Both  perished  in  the  blaze. 


97 


PHILODEMUS 

TWO-HORNED  Lady  of  the  night. 
Lover  of  the  midnight  hour. 
Through  the  lattice  let  thy  light 
Fall  into  Kallistion's  bower. 
Make,  O  Moon  !  thy  glory  shine 
On  that  golden  girl  of  mine. 

Thou,  who  art  a  goddess  bright. 

Art  allowed  to  look  and  see 
Two  young  lovers  there  to-night  : 

Bless,  O  Moon  !  both  her  and  me. 
Once  Endymion  did  move 
Ev'n  thee  to  burn  with  love. 


98 


MARCUS  ARGENTARIUS 


THOU  fair  young  moon  with  golden  horns. 
And  fiery  stars  of  night. 
That  quench  within  the  ocean  stream 
Your  flames  of  shining  light. 

See  how  my  perfume-breathing  love 

Has  left  me  all  alone  ! 
Alas  !    I  cannot  find  her  out. 

Though  twice  three  days  have  flown. 

And  yet  I  mean  to  seek  her  still. 

And  set  upon  her  track 
The  silver  sleuth-hounds  Cypris  has 

To  bring  my  darling  back. 


II 

ALTHOUGH  thy  rest  be  tenfold  balm,  awake. 
Sweet-breathing  Isias  !  send  sleep  away  ; 
In  thy  dear  hands  this  flowery  garland  take, 
That  now  doth  flourish  fair  and  freshly  gay, 
And  yet  shall  fade  ere  dawning  of  the  day  : 
For  thou  shalt  see  in  its  brief  blooming  time. 
The  likeness  of  a  maiden's  perfect  prime. 


99 


Marcus  III 

Ar^eutartus.        xj  UT  SIX  poor  feet  in  earth  thou  shalt  possess, 

JjWhen  thy  turn  comes  to  die  ; 

Thou  shalt  see  nothing  of  life's  joyousness. 

Nor  yet  the  sunlit  sky. 

Therefore  with  gladness  the  gay  goblet  raise. 
And  drink  the  unmixed  wine  ; 
Clasping,  O  Cincius  !  in  a  close  embrace 
That  lovely  wife  of  thine. 

And  if  thy  reason  teach  thee  that  thy  mind 
Is  born  immortal,  know 
Cleathes  and  great  Zeno,  with  their  kind. 
To  Hades  went  below. 


loo 


STRATO 

I 

Othou  who  dost  in  beauty  boast  ! 
Know  that  the  rose  is  gay. 
But  once  her  brilliant  bloom  is  lost. 
She's  cut  and  cast  away. 

For  beauty  bright  and  summer  flower 
Live  out  the  same  short  day. 
Awaiting  time's  allotted  hour 
Of  envious  decav. 


II 

WHEN  last  I  left  my  dearest  love,  it  seemed 
That  she  kissed  me  good-night  ; 
If  this  were  true,  or  if  I  only  dreamed, 
I  cannot  say  aright. 

And  yet  the  other  things  so  very  clear 

Within  my  mind  remain  ; 
All  that  she  said  and  all  she  asked  to  hear 

In  turn  from  me  again. 

I  cannot  be  quite  sure  about  the  kiss. 

If  it  were  really  so. 
Could  I,  when  lifted  into  heaven's  bliss. 

Still  live  on  earth  below  ? 


lOl 


Strata .  Ill 

ow  shall  I  know  when  the  prime 
Of  my  fair  one  is  finished  and  over. 
If  1  live  by  her  side  all  the  time. 
And  am  loyal  and  true  as  a  lover  ? 


H 


Shall  yesterday's  joy  that  was  mine 
This  morning  be  turned  into  sorrow  ? 
And,  to-day,  if  I  think  her  divine. 
Why  should  not  I  think  so  to-morrow  ? 


I02 


AGATHIAS 

I 

I  LIE  and  weep  the  weary  night  away. 
And  when  the  gray  and  gracious  dawn  appears. 
The  swallows  twittering  at  the  break  of  day 
Steal  my  sweet  sleep  and  bring  again  my  tears. 
My  open  eyes  may  never  close  in  rest 
For  thoughts  of  luckless  love  that  vex  my  breast. 

Ye  envious  chatterers,  cease  ;  it  was  not  J 
Who  cut  the  tongue  of  lovely  Philomel ; 
Go,  wail  for  Itylus  on  mountains  high. 
And  his  sad  story  to  the  hoopoe  tell. 
Now  let  me  sleep,  that  I  perchance  may  seem 
To  clasp  Rhodanthe  in  a  happy  dream. 

Jl 

TF.i.L  me,  Philinna,  canst  thou  feel 
The  sharp  point  of  desire. 
Tossing  at  night  upon  thy  couch. 
With  aching  eyes  on  fire  .' 
Or  dost  thou  lie  with  mind  at  ease 
Lapt  close  in  sweetest  sleep. 
Taking,  alas  !   no  count  nor  care 
Whether  I  wake  or  weep  ? 

Thy  fate,  proud  girl,  shall  find  thee  out. 
And  1  shall  see  thee  yet. 
When  with  the  salt  and  frequent  tears 
Thy  pallid  check  is  wet. 
103 


With  malice  in  all  other  things 
Men  Cypris  may  upbraid, 
But  this  at  least  is  true  of  her- 
She  hates  a  haughty  maid. 


Ill 

I  LOVE  not  to  look  on  the  wine-cup  ; 
And  yet  if  thou  pass  it  to  me 
When  thou  hast  first  sipped  of  its  vintage, 
I  fain  must  receive  it  from  thee. 

If  thy  lips  have  but  touched  the  bright  border. 

To  drain  it  I  cannot  decline  ; 
Nor  can  1  escape  the  sweet  tempting 

Of  her  who  pours  out  the  red  wine. 

For  the  cup  that  thou  bringest  me  carries 
The  kiss  left  by  thee  on  the  brim. 

And  tells  me  the  grace  thou  hast  lent  it 
Still  lingers  within  the  gold  rim. 


104 


PAULUS  SILENTIARIUS 

I 

1    MEANT  to  bid  thee,  sweet,  farewell. 
But  it  was  not  to  be  ; 
I  check  the  words  I  would  have  said. 
And  stay,  my  love,  with  thee. 

I  cannot  live  from  thee  apart ; 
From  banishment  I  shrink. 
As  from  the  black  and  bitter  night 
Of  Acheron's  dark  brink. 

Thy  light  is  as  the  light  of  day. 
And  yet  the  day  is  dumb  ; 
But  thy  soft  murmuring  voice  I  hear 
When  thou  again  art  come. 

That  voice  to  me  is  sweeter  far 
Than  any  Siren's  tongue  ; 
And  all  my  hopes  and  all  my  joys 
Are  on  those  accents  hung. 


II 

GALATEA  slammed  her  door 
Jn  my  face,  and  furthermore 
Added  scorn  thereto. 
How  is  it  that  people  say 
Scornful  words  drive  love  away  f 
Mine  but  greater  grew. 
105 


Paulus  At  first,  in  wrath,  I  did  but  swear 

SUenttarius.  j  ^^uld  not  see  her  for  a  year  ; 

Alas  !   that  was  last  night. 
The  folly  of  my  oath  1  learned. 
When  as  a  suppliant  I  returned 
To  her  at  morning  light. 


Ill 

How   long,   how   long  do   ye   still   mean,  mine 
eyes. 
To  drain  the  nectarous  draught  of  Love  divine  ? 
Have  not  ye  learned  at  last  to  be  more  wise 
Than  thus  to  drink  of  beauty's  unmixed  wine  ? 

As  far,  far  off  as  me  my  strength  may  bring. 
Let  me  escape,  and  there  in  calm  and  ease, 
I  will  pour  out  a  sober  offering 
And  seek  a  milder  Cypris  to  appease. 

But  if  ev'n  there  the  cruel  sting  pursue. 
Oh,   then,  mine  eyes,  chill  tears  forever  rain  ! 
Eternal  toil  be  your  deserved  due  ; 
Through  you  I  fell  upon  this  fiery  pain. 


IV 

THE  third  lamp  of  the  lonely  night 
Wastes  silently  away  ; 
It  casts  a  feeble  flickering  light. 
Oh  !   why  doth  she  delay  ? 
1 06 


But  would  that  also,  in  my  breast,  Paulus 

Were  quenched  the  fatal  fire  SiUntiarim. 

That  tortures  me  with  long  unrest. 
And  wakeful  wild  desire. 

And  yet  how  many  times  she  swore 

At  dusk  to  meet  me  here  ! 
For  men  she  hath  no  pity  more. 

And  of  the  gods  no  fear. 


107 


THYMOCLES 

REMEMBER  now  how  once  I  said  to  thee 
The  solemn  word  that  of  all  things  that   be 
Both  fair  and  fleet,  the  very  fairest  far 
And  fleetest  thing  is  opportunity. 

And  not  the  bird  with  swiftest  wings  outspread. 
That  cleaves  the  bright  clear  ether  overhead. 
Can  overtake  lost  opportunity. 
Lo  !  on  the  ground  thy  flowers  all  are  shed  ! 


io8 


MACEDONIUS 

AH,    Constance  !   when  I  heard  your  name, 
I  thought  it  sounded  fair  and  true  ; 
I  would  your  nature  were  the  same  ! 
But  death  is  not  so  sharp  as  you. 

From  him  who  loves  you  fly  away. 
And  him  who  loves  not  you  pursue. 
That,  when  you  make  him  love,  he  may 
In  turn  again  be  flouted  too. 


109 


RUFINUS 
I 

I    AM  armed  with  the  breastplate  of  reason 
To  battle  with  Eros  alone  ; 
And  I  know  that  he  never  can  conquer 
In  the  warfare  of  one  against  one. 
Though  mortal  matched  with  an  immortal, 

I  care  not,  yet  what  could  I  do 
If  he  should  bring  Bacchus  to  help  him. 
And  I  were  but  one  against  two  ? 


II 

HAVING  bathed,  and  bound  our  hair, 
Prodice,  with  garlands  fair. 
Let  us  drink  a  draught  divine 
Of  the  pure  unmingled  wine  ; 
To  our  lips  still  lifting  up 
Every  time  a  larger  cup. 
Short  our  life  of  joy  at  best. 
Old  age  comes  to  stop  the  rest ; 
And,  when  age  itself  is  past. 
Death  must  be  our  end  at  last. 


Ill 

WHERE  is  gone  the  golden  splendour 
Of  Melissa's  fine  array  ? 
Where  the  pomp  that  did  attend  her  ? 
Where  is  all  her  vain  display  ? 
I  lo 


Where  is  her  disdainful  seeming,  Rujinus. 

Brows  that  oft  were  bent  in  scorn  ? 
Where  the  jewelled  sandals  gleaming 
On  her  wanton  ankles  worn  ? 

And  where  are  her  bright  tresses  braided  ? 
Lo  !   the  loss  she  cannot  hide  : 
For  when  a  woman  once  is  faded. 
See  the  end  of  all  her  pride  ! 


I  I  I 


AUTHOR  UNKNOWN 

ON  thy  new,  fresh-heaped  tomb. 
Fairest  flowers  bud  and  bloom  ; 
Here  the  rank  weed  shall  not  blow. 
Nor  the  thorny  bramble  grow  ; 
But  the  white  narcissus  wet. 
Marjoram  and  violet. 
And  the  ruddy  summer  rose 
Deck  the  place  of  thy  repose. 


I  12 


AUTHOR    UNKNOWN 

SHORT,   alas  !   the  flowering  time 
Of  the  rose's  lov^ely  prime. 
Once  her  crimson  bloom  is  past. 
Seeking  thou  shalt  find  at  last. 
On  her  withered  stem  forlorn. 
Not  a  rose-bud,  but  a  thorn. 


113 


ANACREONTIC 

THE   black  earth  drinketh  daily. 
The  trees  from  earth  are  drinking. 
The  sea  drinks  up  the  vapours. 
The  sun  drinks  from  the  ocean  ; 
The  moon,  too,  drinks  the  sunbeams  — 
Why  quarrel  with  me,  comrades. 
If  I  myself  am  drinking  ? 


114 


o 


JULIANUS   ^GYPTIUS 

FTEN   I   sang  it  of  old,   and  out  of  my 

grave  I   will  cry  it. 
Drink  before  you  are  clothed  round  with 

the  raiment  of  dust  ! 


"5 


PALLADAS 

I 

NAKED  I  was  when  I  began  my  life 
On  earth,  and  naked  under  earth  I  go. 
Then   wherefore   should    I   wage   this   idle 
'  strife. 

Since  the  end's  utter  nakedness  I  know  ? 


II 

I  WAS  born  weeping,  having  wept  I  die. 
And  all  my  life  in  many  tears  is  passed. 
O  tearful  race  of  weak  humanity ! 
Dragged  under  earth  to  moulder  at  the  last. 


Ill 

UPON  life's  tempest-troubled  seas  afloat. 
We    strike    worse    rocks    than     shipwrecked 
sailors    know  ; 
With  Chance  the  pilot  of  our  storm-tossed  boat. 
Upon  a  doubtful  dangerous  voyage  we  go  ; 
Though    some  fair  weather,   and  some  foul   have 

found, 
We  all  meet  in  one  haven  underground. 


16 


IV  Palladas. 

ALL  mortal  men  are    doomed   to   pay  Death's 
debt. 
And  no  one  knows  if  he  will  live  to-morrow. 
Learn  this,  O  man  !      Make  merry  and  forget 
In  wine's  oblivion  fear  of  death  and  sorrow. 
With  love  and  pleasure  thy  brief  days  enhance, 
And  leave  all  else  to  the  control  of  chance. 


117 


MARIANUS 

WHERE  is  that  bow  of  thine  all  backward 
bent. 
Thine  arrows  that  straight  through  the 
mid-heart  sped  ? 
Where  are  thy   wings  ?     Are   thy  fierce    torches 

spent  ? 
Why  wearest  thou  a  crown  upon  thy  head  ? 
And    what  are    those    three   wreaths    within    thy 
hands  outspread  ? 

0  thou  that  askest  me  !  not  from  the  earth 

1  spring,  nor  from  the  earth's  unclean  desire  ; 
Not  from  mad  mortal  joy  have  I  my  birth  ; 
But  the  pure  hearts  of  men  I  set  on  fire. 

And  upward    lead    to   heaven  the  souls  that  I  in- 
spire. 

From  the  four  virtues  wreaths  I  twine  to  wear  ; 
These  that  thou  seest  in  my  hands  I  bear. 
And  wisdom's  crown  I  bind  about  my  hair. 


ii8 


I 


THIS    BOOK    WAS    PRINTED    BY    THE 

ROCKWELL    AND    CHURCHILL    PRESS    OF    BOSTON 

DURING    NOVEMBER     1898 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


L9-40m-7,'56(C790s4)444 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


LOS  ANffFI  K« 


^ 


3  1158  01079  1175 


PA 

3622 

SUUs 


IJC  SOIITHf  RN  RFGIONAL  LIBRARY  I  AGILITY 


II  lllllllllllllllllllllllllllll 

AA    UUUU52  949    9 


